Orange

He moves to grab you roughly from your seat on the countertop

Bruises shaped like fingerprints threaten to surface but your skin is too tough

Too determined to endure his manic fumblings over your curve.

He laughs when he can’t find an opening

Says your a tough little one

Says he’s gonna get a knife.

And then begins to rip

your skin from the flesh of you insides.

Coaxing it this way and that -

To keep the hide intact.

Juice spurts from the occasional knick,

where his hand wasn’t so steady.

He pulls round and round and round,

Until you’re so dizzy with the pain that you’re still.

He lays his hands on your sides;

Enveloping and warm

And he snaps -

you in half with a a sickening, echoing pop.

Tears your tissue out like a trophy

Only to discard it.

He takes a bite and a little of yourself dribbles down his chin.