My tongue’s been pulled from my mouth, only my esophagus and stomach and intestines were attached to it but not attached to me. They all slid out in a line of entrails, leaving me only a sack with nothing inside. I’ve been hollowed out, the sides of me scraped until I bled and my flesh is raked to pieces- until parts of me are buried under someone’s nails. The smell of iron seeps from them as a sickly, never-ending perfume. The odor is too raw and it burns. The blood slides down their skin and skids on paper as they move their pencil, dancing to mirror their gesticulations.

They will always be reminded of me.