Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click hereI ripped open my shirt
to show you my beating heart.
Bit by bit, I carved away
my chest with a spoon.
It took me eight months, and three spoons.
Surprise: it hurt like fucking hell.
As blood and bits of gristly identity
soaked this berber carpet.
Fucking desire was my anesthetic.
And you know what that means.
It's a peculiar thing,
prying your own chest cavity open
writing "hold me"
in sharpie on the left ventricle.
It's odd to love
the feel of your fingers in my rib cage.
In the dirty parts, they write
"she stroked his throbbing organ"
And they almost never mean his aorta, do they?
Every time you hiccup
or flinch or recoil
or fucking go away
the bitter air floods my chest
and I see myself below
Running errands and
clutching my breast
in delicious fucking agony.
My heart hurt when I read it, the pain of loving someone so much it feels like your heart is fucking wide open to them.
This poem is incredible. I absolutely love it and I think it might be the best I have read of your work so far.