sword eater

i didn't ever mean to be this kind
of hungry. i was trying to put on
a money show. open your mouth.
take in the dangerous. everyone claps
& thinks, "i'm glad that's not me."
there are thousands of little colosseums
in any given house. i started to crave
that taste of metal. how sharpness 
rings against skin. the threat of a complete
bifurcation. split section of a human.
one lung on either side. i thought i would
just hold the blade in my mouth.
i thought i could keep it there. instead,
my body demanded more. i did not
just swallow, i ate. i ate & ate. ran
to the wood block in the kitchen & ate
all the knives too. my whole family watched
like i was a television. in some ways
i am. i am the thing you can turn off
when it becomes too much. the living room
with all the windows open. the neighbors
page through magazines. cut out my face
& mail it to me. they write notes like,
"i saw what you have done." they always
sound like threats but i know what 
they really mean is, "i don't know
how you are still alive." i don't know either.
i have tried to curb my appetite with 
lesser hazards. sometimes just a spoon.
the limb of a fallen tree. a corkscrew.
i always come back to the swords though.
there is something so clean about the way
they slide through me. a moment to feel
as if i never was meant to be whole. 
a small exhale comfort to not have to smile 
without any blood between my teeth.