This is How I jumped

This is how I jumped
from the roof of that building
to the face of that wall
with my palms impossibly slick from blood,
the vile product of my lifelong trade,
mixed with the fat and bone alongside
the clay, wire, and beaded glass eyes.

My hands grasp the smooth darkness
as it throbs and pulls against me with
muscular wing-like contractions.
The fur cringes as the small bones creak
and the liver pulls free from its red roots,
taking with it the web of veins and arteries,
leaving the capillaries gasping at their straws.

The mouth, with it’s dripping canines,
falls open as the bottom jaw chews up and down
mouthing a silent complaint, my hands
sunk deep in its guts cold and squirming,
rattling the (rib)cage from inside out.
Where the heart roots tears easier.