You want to kill me, you want to destroy me, but god has gotten there first. You may think you have had the last laugh when you string me up in that field, bound to a tree, you penetrating me viciously, thrusting your wood and your metal into my body, my chest, my arms, my breast, my heart, but it is I who have won. You have not destroyed me, you have saved me, you have immortalised me. I was to stand alone and diseased, struck down by vicious plague and malignant frost. Those boys from New York knew the fear, they knew what could happen to them, and yet still they went, fucking their misery and pain away.
I am human. I am only human. I can only use my body to express myself. This flesh and bone is disgustingly vulgar, repulsive in every way. There are beautiful things in me, in all of us. The fluttering child like heart, the swelling lungs filled with life and laughter. All my veins and arteries, rivers of love and existence, all bound together, trapped, incarcerated by my cage of bones, my ribs my vertebras, my spine, bound together by shameful folds of skin and meat. Take me and butcher me. Crack open my sternum, let my insides out. Let my heart be free, let it soar amongst the clouds, let it bleed into the rivers and the land, let it fall and drift to earth, another bloody leaf in another disappointing autumn. Butcher my flesh and grill my meat. Eat me; I taste like blood and sex.