I tried to remember what I said about him, he about me. I was cinched in. My eye opened and played, spilling out the genders of thought and violence. What he said as he cut twice over each eyelid lives less thick than hair and blood like rivers sealing my eyes shut. At first I didn't know if he intended to pirate my eye or impose himself upon it, re-writing the history of my eye, cutting out infection line by line.
Desire withdraws, dies in convolutions of an eye closed through piracy.
I fought against my braces but ultimately the bifurcation terminated between us. I give her to him her hand and under and pounding and blooding me giving and he to her blooding and coming and eyeing and body and wet and white and body and dying and wet and white and cutting and eyeing and wet white to taking and killing and cutting and ending in blooding and dulling and eyeing. Or I leave. I want to throw myself out of my life, I want to kill my mother. This is a breakout.