"She Said" by Attay Kremer
She said I should hang myself with the thinnest string of my guitar. She said it would hurt more. She said it should be thin enough to poke through the skin. I thought I would rather be squished, undone by unstoppable forces, not bit, not hung, not stabbed, but torn apart, overcome by sheer hate, by the weight of other eyes. She said that if I were to die — never mind the reason — the cat would leave, would gather filth as it lived the rest of its days in the street. I felt guilty. I felt my tied tongue obscuring my breath, gallons of saliva gathering and pouring out of my mouth. She was disgusted. I only wanted to swap saliva, to gather our filth together...to-gather. My stomach — made of knots filled with rancid liquid weighing on me — asked me for permission. She wanted to crawl out of me, to be with Her. She said I shouldn’t let it out, it should be allowed out, it shouldn’t be seen. I love my stomach, I wanted to say yes, I’ve never seen her. I wanted to pet her, to love her, to name her.