consume her by Monet Ayala

I met her in August, 

when the sun shines too bright 

and my clothes sticks 

to my skin 

and I could not be rid of her. 

Her voice 

grated 

on my every nerve, 

my head 

pounded 

with every word she spoke 

and my jaw subconsciously 

clenched 

when she was near me. 

I caught myself wondering 

what her blood

would look like 

spilled out on the floor. 

What my hands 

would look like 

around her throat. 

What her skin 

would look like 

ripped from her bones

And all over me. 

I want to

feel

the beat of her heart 

in my hands. 

Taste 

the salt of her blood 

on my lips. 

Grip 

the soft of her thigh 

in between 

my teeth. 

I want to get 

her 

out 

from under my skin.

I need to 

consume 

Her.