lick and bite my body

write me a thousand new directions, create me

we were truncated versions and memory distorted

to never hear an echo
i wanted to believe

i was an erased body. we wrote me down on paper, you and i. then we erased me quickly

all I can say now is not very much creativity went into the story, and it turned out that there were options and the options went something like this:

make me real, bite me and lick me

me real

call me real, call my name like it was something you said in the dark when you were practicing

real

never define me again. never codify the index of echo

never erase the definition

dream me and dream them and dream a fiction

i will write you imaginary. and never tell myself that what i write is real. this is my last gift to you

that’s half of what we always wanted

I said,

and meant it too. but i meant it as a goodbye

write our bodies, lick and bite me nebulous

we will make ourselves into existance, half of what i write inside my head

real, make me write me speak me goodbye

i have written you fictive. because reality is half echo, and this is why fiction is a higher calling than nonfiction, and why i will make myth to cradle

what is made can dream a new place, a new landscape, a new

bite me, bitch, and know who’s in charge of our actions