Blood and Moths
Oh what wretched pleasure in this agony!
So delicious the sting of tear to cheek, a face scrubbed raw with weeping.
Let me eat up my own heartbeat, let its pain feed my scream; it throbs like a wound freshly torn, if I put my fingers inside perhaps I will find myself.
Why oh why you disastrous gentleman, you spitting image of beauty!
You and your tenderness, so ready to absorb me, so willing to lap up my darkness and petty secrets, like black moths about your head, like dust in your eyes. You made me love you!
The shadows bled out from me and I became so light with sorrows shared that I crashed into you and rendered your heart a chaos.
But you were a delicacy I could not stomach; that is the excuse for my abandonment.
You deserve more, so much more, but my tongue withered in my mouth and I could not tell you.
So now I sob, a gorgeous wrenching of the gut, cries from the deep.
I mourn for you like the widow who murdered her own husband, like the thief who stole his own gold. I cry out in the night but you are not there. My own choosing! You are not there because I killed you, I squeezed your heart until your eyes bulged, until you bled from your ears. You staggered off, confused, still loving me, still absorbing me.
I would bet you love me even now.
But do not come back, I implore you, do not come back,
Or you sweet thing, I will eat you.