a fictional account of my death

I let you eat my heart before you even saw my skin.
I had cracked myself open like an oyster, and you pierced my aorta with your canine teeth until bright red blood spurted out,
You bit through my vena cava; you severed all the vessels from around my heart and plucked out your prize.
I gave you too much, too soon, and when you saw my mottled-corpse exterior you turned away from me.
You had already stolen away with my hot, beating core so the blood was pooling and purpling inside me, stagnant.

I wanted to give you my skin for you to eat, too.
I wanted to watch you make white crescents with your nails in my chest,
Tug tenderly, tenderly with your teeth at the plastic of my skin until it unpeeled from the bone.
I wanted you to reach in and unclasp my ribs and look into the dark cavity that you had made,
Whispering love-words in the unhearing cradle of my ear.

I thought, if I offered you the heart of me first, you'd eat the rest for afters.
But you just had a craving for warm heart-flesh, and I was the only girl fool enough to give it to you.