Hello. I see you.
If I could speak louder I'd call you, bring you to me, devour you.
I am wounded, split apart, and perpetually anxious and hungry.
It began many years ago. I am made of steel and concrete, hardy materials that are nevertheless vulnerable to the corrosive bite of water. A drop means nothing, of course, but over the decades a constant drip has coursed through me, gnawing at my insides. Little by little it has stripped my flesh and opened wounds that have fed one another and grown into a horrific void.
When it ran out of space it turned its gaze outwards and teared through my skin.
Now my insides are spilling over.
I wish to fill this void, clean my flesh, heal the wounds, but I'm numb and quiet, incapable of moving or screaming.
If I could draw you to me, I'd suck you into my tender flesh.
The corrosive poison would get into you too, making you bloated, soft, your skin viscous and sticky, opening itself to me, just as desiring and hungry.