most days. i'd rather smash you into fine grained powder. grind your bones to bits and blood guts reductions. the opposite of wonderful to keep in a jar on the windowsill. my penny pocket snowglobe charm. when you sleep i want to rip you limb from limb. burn your house to the hinges. if it would keep. and if i could stitch both my eyelids closed to claim your sight. i would. these nights when i sit cracked and wild. carving your name into my arm with a pen knife.