Your fingers are in my mouth and all I can taste is latex and the slow numb of tranquilizer pastes, off-brown, sticking to my gums. You run your fingers up along the insides of my cheeks, along the teeth, back, father back. You push up through a membrane which pulls away from your fingertips, my slowed heartbeat pumping less blood into my mouth, into the suction hose, and you reach up to my cheekbones, up to my eye sockets, the pleasures of those orifices you ignore. Up, up until you reach the crack in my skull, following the fracture further back until you reach my fontanel. You clear tissue from the hole with the nail of your right index finger and clear a hole large enough to get the small hooked instrument strapped to your left ring finger into the hole. Then you just pull until you hear a crack and the skull separates.

the exit is hidden within the exit