I grow hot and rare like a steak. That’s right, eat me and eat gleefully. I don’t deserve to hurt again, but if I do, I want it to be good, raw and tempest, a whip and shag. I want it to mean something. I want it to be mean to me. I want it to grind into me, perverse cannibal need. This is my joy, ruinous. I didn’t consider the stakes. This is what I deserve.