the butcher's lover: deviations from the cleaver

nothing hurts like you do, i've been cut this deep once before but that was milestones ago now and if i'm completely honest that wound was deeper—but you opened it and sliced through my arteries: this wound may not be as fresh but that's what causes me such pain, you reopened everything i hoped would rot away and never replenish. 

i need to ingest you. i have a hunger that will not be satisfied until i metabolise you. in hopes of making myself digestable for you i will drop my baggage into bubbling brooks, they will swallow even the heaviest of stories. i can leave it all behind for you baby truly i can.

my bedsheets are bloodsoaked and stained but i will not wash them, i can not bare the thought of washing you away, even if you were never truly real, you are not the man you told me you were.  am i alone in thinking it was merciless to make me fall in love with a man who does not exist?—when he succumbs to death's calling there will be no bones left behind—for he is a figment of my dream world.

your barbed wire grip throttles my throat and as blood beads from your touch, i know that struggling will only shred my skin more so i will remain frozen and statuesque. 

how disgustingly gruesome my thoughts turned, do i repulse you baby? if you saw me right now you'd run for the hills, as my skin decays and my brain melts into wishing itself away i'll use my dying strength to follow you all the way there—god help me i swear i will.

a butchery has occured here, the skin of an angel once carassed my torso before gutting it and leaving me behind. i usually withstand torment but i have learnt my lesson this time, i know apathy is my saviour but i will abandon it if it means your sorry lips will kiss mine even just once more.

smoke smoulders from the crown of my skull, my jaw swings freely—if it weren't so gory i'm sure the sight would entertain you, do i still look pretty baby? is my fucked up jaw reminiscent of how you once treated it?