I Know Obsession

An exercise in writing what you know:


I get disappointed when I look over to you and I don’t see your face because it’s covered by your long hair. I breathe in time with you. I can remember the white scars on your arm, trace them into my own with my fingernails. I took your tongue out of your mouth, switched it with my own, and I delight in the way you taste things. I can paint your lips in any color on any surface.

I know I’m in love with you because we both have trypophobia. I know I’m in love with you because I helped you take the bot fly's out of your uncle’s skull. No one else has the same color voice you have.

I could ID your mutilated body when the police couldn’t just by the scent of your blood.
I stirred your ashes into cupcake batter, covered them with bright white frosting and candied cherries and ate up every little bit of you.

I slept with your father and your mother at the same time so it would be like I was with two halves of you.

I went to the state prison and met with Normand Fish- the man who killed you- and licked and tore at his hands with my teeth and tongue just because his hands had been inside you and there might just be a tiny bit of you left there.

Our favorite cake stays slowly rotting on the kitchen table, but I leave it there because it’s your half.

I know I’m in love with you because I keep calling your voicemail just to listen to you say that if I leave my name and number, you’ll get back to me.