every stomachache tastes like skin cancer

every thought of the alternative tastes like surgery awake

that thing that rots inside my body is a time bomb

whether she detonates in gloved hands or in hemorrhages

she’ll take me down with her

i have pictured a body barely mine decomposing in a hospice

i have pictured a smiling nurse pulling my insides open to look at her

i fantasized about biting a cyanide capsule in a pink-painted waiting room

i have had my fair share of meat and metal

and i don’t want either inside of me

when they dig up my bones, i hope the bomb will have gone off

and my pelvis will be slime and powder and blood

and i will not have her inside me anymore

i will just be something dead and disgusting