June 20, 2017

“The man thought it might be nice for us to stop staring at nothing. The walls were not entertaining and he worried that the house was becoming too stagnant for me. He thought if I did not see something different, then I might search the house for anything with a point, then drive it deep within myself. The man chose a movie for us to watch. It was a horror movie—we often liked to be scared…”

June 19, 2017

“[…] Once upon a time, I was a woman who lived in a clean, white house with a man who was sometimes very nice and sometimes not. In that house, I tried my best to be womanly but failed each time. I did not know how to use an oven, I did not like sweeping dust from corners, I did not care that a thin film coated the window glass…”

June 16, 2017

“It seemed I lay in the bed forever before those white-clothed godheads deemed me sane. They swore I was better now, my head clear. I had the emptiness I wanted, what more could I do? What was there left to destroy? They lifted me from the mattress, propped me up. Someone brushed my hair, someone clothed me, someone eased the plastic tube from my arm…”

June 15, 2017

I imagined myself back with the sad man, wandering tight rooms while holding our loathsome corpse of a child (it did not suck or cry, its eyes were smeared with thick black). The child smelled of death and mold and age. The sad man smelled of what he was—stagnant and crippled and dry. I walked with the corpse child knowing full well I would die here…”

June 5, 2017

“I dreamed of fully formed, squealing children. There were many of them, more than I could pass. I could not stand the look of them. The children dribbled spit and had crusted eyes. Their skin was clammy and slimy. The children were covered in filth. They followed me. They had large, sharp teeth. The children did not let me sleep…”

May 27, 2017

“I was supposed to be happy. The man said so. Our families said so. Anyone I met said so. I was supposed to be so, so happy. This was the female dream. This was what was strived for. Marriage. A home. Pregnancy. So why was I miserable? Sometimes the man climbed atop me and I felt that I might suffocate from his weight…”

May 22, 2017

“I should not have bitten the man. I should not have tasted the salt of his blood. I should not have tempted the pregnancy. But I did. I bit and I tasted and now the pregnancy wanted me to kill the man. It wanted me to stab his face, to open the soft skin in curling wet flaps…”

May 13, 2017

“The man suggested that we play a game. The game was simple: dress as a famous couple from the black-and-white television era and embody them from midnight until midnight. To break my daily monotony, I agreed. I thought the game was going to be one way but I played it wrong…”

May 8, 2017

“Women who sometimes went numb at their wrists and knees, who forgot what it was like to feel anything that was not the body and the floor and walls. Women who wanted to extend their tongues from their mouths and lick fervently. Women who needed a new religion, one that explained in concrete terms why a woman’s body was built for suffering, was made to be split apart, then healed, bled out, then sealed…”

May 7, 2017

“Everything was too close. The walls, the couch. I hated putting out my arms and touching anything. The man came too close and I felt him on me. Worse, I felt him inside me, as if he were plucking my skin away and draping it over his shoulders. A wall was behind me, a wall was beside me, and the man was in front of me…”

April 29, 2017

“Soon enough, I was pregnant again. My insides churned violently and so I was ill on a daily basis. I vomited into the sink, the waste green and orange. I had trouble eating and so the vomit was mostly bile. The vomit burned my throat when it came up. I gagged upon it, choked until I thought I might stop breathing…”

April 21, 2017

“I thought of destroying the man in the same way I thought of destroying anything warm. I imagined breaking skulls with rocks and hammers, cleaving the bone until the pink within spilled onto my hands. I imagined slicing and stabbing and tearing warm bellies open, pulling the skin aside in strips so that I could make a space large enough to fit myself—my hands, my head…”

April 17, 2017

“I imagined drinking the man. I imagined putting my mouth upon him and sipping his skin as it went wet and sloshed. I imagined using his tongue as a straw, sucking and sucking until most of his mouth was within mine. I could drink all of him, bit by bit, quick and quick, the liquid of his ears and the moisture of his brain…”

April 13, 2017

“I saw myself walking the house with a knife in one hand and a thick swatch of hair caught in the other. This version of me was in grief. She climbed the staircase soundlessly, threw herself back down with the same non-noise. She did not look me directly in the eye no matter how many times I blocked her path…”

April 9, 2017

“Sometimes the man seemed to glisten and then I could not look away from him. It was as if he floated above me, a fleshy balloon of himself, and I reached for him, as thought if I could only wrap my arms around his legs, he might lift me, too. When the man was so shining, I wanted to smear myself with him. The world was gone outside the house and the man was all there was. And so when the man said to lock the doors, I did…”

April 5, 2017

“I opened my eyes and saw it, an inky blackness that stood in the corner of the bedroom, looming and weaving. I dismissed the darkness as yet another shadow but then it moved, abruptly gliding forward towards my side of the bed. The blackness came close to me, pressed down against me and it was almost worse that it did not have any face to speak of…”

April 4, 2017

“The man wanted to be burned upon his death. He wanted me to douse his hair and flesh with gasoline, then strike a match. The man wanted to be burned down to black ash, a clumpy puddle. If the man met such an end, I would eat him…”

April 1, 2017

“I saw the man as what he would be later. The man—no, a corpse—in a box. The man with his flesh mottled and sagging. The man with spume and spittle and residue. The man green and gray and brown. The man blackening. The man moldering. The man becoming ash and powder and dust. The man dead. The man cold. The man not there. The man in the ground. The man eaten by worms. The man made into dirt. The man gone…”

March 31, 2017

“I dreamed I cleaved the man open with the claw-end of a metal hammer. The metal just grazed the man and he broke apart. This happened again and again. The hammer went in, the man opened. Again and again and again. There was red. There was white and that went red as well. The red was everywhere. It spilled on the floor. It was on my hands. So much red, everywhere, everywhere…”

March 25, 2016

“Where was the man? Where was he in the house, where within my life? The red light flashed and droned. It said: I have him, I have him. I looked for the man. I looked for him in the hallway, in the bathroom, upon the staircase. I put my ears to the walls and listened for him banging about within the plaster. I looked beneath the bed, behind the couch, within the cushions…”

March 23, 2017

“The red light flashed and droned. It said: I have him, I have him. I looked for the man. I looked for him in the hallway, in the bathroom, upon the staircase. I put my ears to the walls and listened for him banging about within the plaster. I looked beneath the bed, behind the couch, within the cushions. The man was not there. The man was not anywhere. The man was not in the house. The red light shone. The red light burned a hole through the side of the house…”

March 22, 2017

“The red light burned through the house. I could not sleep. The man slept with his hands pressed to his face. He snored in such a way I thought of metal blades hacking through dry concrete. There was gristle, there was splatter, there was spark. I turned from side to side. I pulled at my hair. I closed my eyes but the red light was there, emblazoned upon the insides of my eyelids…”

March 19, 2017

“I scratched into the man’s back: THIS MAN IS MINE. I wrote it so that if the man went missing and his body was found much later, I would be able to prove his identity. He was the man, he lived in the house with me. I wrote the message once, then traced over it three dozen times, scratching and scratching until the man’s flesh was ripped up. The scratches bled, then healed, then scarred…”