revisiting a poem from last spring

raw emotion outside Pugh Hall:

If I stop to think about it
That struggling, fleshy pump of mine
will explode
It's already operating at full capacity.
Just to move stuff limbs away from you.

I would strip the flesh from my bones
In reverse paper mache
To stop your self digestion
Keep peeling back till
tendons pulling on my bones exposed.

Feeble organic cords are nothing
next to the steel wires
of my puppeteering ex-lover.
Fused with every major artery
Strategically cutting of blood supply to the brain.

I've spent eons hacking away
At these predatory vines taking root.
But I'm infected - system error.
I can only hope to qurantine the virus.
Are you sure you want to delete this file?

No.
No.
No.

A week later's revision:

If I stop to think about it
That struggling fleshy pump
will explode
Already operating at full capacity
To move stiff limbs away from you.

I would strip the flesh from my bones
In reverse paper mache
To stop your self digestion
Keep peeling back till tendons
Pulling on my bones expose

Feeble organic cords are nothing
Next to the steel wires
Of a puppeteering ex-lover
Fused with every major artery
Strategically keeping blood from my brain

I’ve spent eons hacking away
At these predatory vines taking root
But I’m infected. System error.
Are you sure you want to delete this file?

No.
No.
No.

should be doing homework at present:

Too late to hit the breaks
Hydroplaning on salty solution
that never made it below the bridge
Brine that eats away at the hull
I watch those molars gnashing

flesh stripped from my marrow
in beautiful reverse paper mache
To halt your self-digestion
I'll peel myself in a strip tease
guaranteed to over-expose

feeble organic strings snap,
splatter on the copper wires
of my puppeteer's design
to keep the oxygen from the brain
Bitter metal in my mouth I taste

the delicate hacking of an old blade
at predatory vines taken root

bleh. it may never be good.

By the time the hot tears make it down to my lips, my mouth is dry cotton and and I lick them up. They taste like the ocean. The ocean tastes like you in the shower, after the beach, after a hard night's work. My face in the crook between your chin and your chest is just like my face pressing into a pillow sobbing. How could I have not seen this coming?