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Writer’s Block

Cracking your ribcage like pencil led

I bend my body to contort itself to your shape

Knees bending over knees bending over

I slide my arms into your cavity, hitting a spleen I believe

I confine my being into your being, and slither into the seams

Moving your liver over an inch or two, don’t worry its fine

I’ll just put your heart by your lungs, and shift your stomach down a tad

I don’t mind sharing, it’s just that I need a little more space

Listening to the beating of your heart, now muffled by your heavy breathing

Your organs make new noises as they shift themselves into new places

Goo courses around my limbs and over the edges of your broken ribcage

Spilling out and over onto the tiled floor of my kitchen

I am not entirely sure why we decided to become one being in my kitchen

Though I could understand because of the tile… much easier than carpeting

Less chance of someone finding us in here, than if we had moved out into the yard

Positioning myself inside your chest cavity, I begin to feel almost comfortable

Never mind the bits of muscle and bone poking and prodding at my back

Almost too tight, but we make it work you and I

Though… I must say, I assumed going into this that you would have less fat

I mean, you’re a fairly lean person I am not sure why all this fat is taking up my space

If I threw a little of this onto the floor I don’t think you’d mind right?

I mean, who would mind a little fat being taken out

The sound the fat makes hitting the tile floor is astonishingly grotesque

Like the sound wet spaghetti makes as you’re stirring in the sauce

A mixture of mushing, mashing, and moistness

And no one likes that word, believe you me

It sloshes onto the floor, splattering blood across three or four tiles

SHIT, I forgot to pick up a mop at the grocery store

I knew I was forgetting something when I grabbed the bleach

I haven’t heard your heart beat in a second, I should check on that

I poke at it… it moves… I don’t hear the beat itself but it’s clearly working on something

Which I assume is sending blood to your body parts that aren’t broken, on the floor, or punctured

Then again, I am no doctor

Comfortable, in the best sense, I reach out and grab my notebook and pen off the floor

Squeezing them in, I catch the pen on a shard of rib and I hear you gasp

Well you’re alive… that’s good to know

Wiggling my ass around for a second to get extra confined and comfortable

I put pen to slightly stained with blood and intestinal ooze paper

Hopefully inspiration comes to me while I am contorted into your being

That being the point and all

…

Inspiration… come to me…

…

Fucking writer’s block… DAYS it’s been DAYS since I have written a decent line, let alone a decent piece

…

I sit inside of you for what feels like seconds

The kitchen stove shows I have been inside of your chest for three hours

…

Fuck you inspiration

Since we both have places to be eventually, and I am unsure how long this will take

I throw my pen and paper, now soaked so really not of much use, out of the hole I’ve made and onto the tiled floor

Putting both hands on either side of the hole, making sure to avoid any sharp rib pieces

I pull myself up off my ass, which fell asleep some time ago

UGH

I fall onto the tiled floor, in a mess, your mess…

I look at you, opened and starting to stink a tad

Thanks

I nod at you, in a bro fashion

I grab my pen and paper off the floor, look at them both once with a passing glance

Push the trashcan’s lid open and dump them both inside

Fuck you inspiration

I look at you one more time.

I was sure this was going to work…