I press my hands into you,

not gently, not kindly,

but as if I’m breaking skin.

You’re a carcass.

I mold your spine crooked on purpose.

I stretch your mouth too wide.

I carve your ribs open with a fingernail.

You were never meant to speak.

I do not ask for breathing,

only obedience,

only pliancy,

only flesh that yields to my command.

You are violence dressed as vision.

I make gods out of you

then break them before they set.

I dry you in fire and call it tempering,

but it is punishment.

I want to smooth your face with a razor.

I want to kiss the cracks I make

and blame you when you shatter.

You are not a masterpiece,

You are a grave

and my hands are tombstones.

Every line etched in you is a confession.

And every curve I force into being is a lie.

Let me shape you.

Let me ruin you.

Let me love you in the only way I know how:

by destroying you until you are beautiful.