Is the ability to 'destroy' my missing piece? Can there be love in destruction? It seduces me in my dreams. Dogs tearing dogs apart, fireworks exploding and catching those in their wake, dismembering.
Is it taking a table in my hands and swinging it hard into a stone wall again and again, or an umbrella in a thunderstorm? Dashed against the ground like the hard rain, flashing as it throws piercing splinters into the air.
Is it taking what I think of you, and slicing coolly into your self-image with a glaring knife, deconstructing you piece by piece, and holding it up for you to see, bleeding?
Is this the love I've been staring into the face of my whole life, that I'm incapable of giving?