(mild Gore Tw)

(mild gore tw)

to watch someone waste away as you heal is the ultimate sacrifice. i recognize the look in her eyes like reflection. reflection not of me but of the girl I used to be. as though that ghost is a generational heirloom. the haunting inherited. and yet is it not my fault? for did i not perform my own exorcism of that demon in a closet that we shared? did i not unleash an insatiable hatred unaware that it would seek the next blood in the bloodline? did i not bask too long in the glory of belonging so entirely to myself to notice the parts of me i gouged out no longer rested beneath my finger nails?

as we laid in next to each other in bed at night, and I stayed awake for hours clawing the self hate off me, was it not my fault for waiting too long to change the sheets? somehow did the grime not stick to her as she tossed and turned? tell me that the extra minutes I spent glaring at I my reflection did not leave the mirror greedy for more. caused it to hold her gaze for longer each time. afterall how could it not be. my fault. for i never attempted to cleanse the walls of blood spatter and so of course she would be curious. 

but to watch someone waste away as you heal is the ultimate sacrifice. yet sometimes i wonder who is sacrificing what. who is sacrificing who.

I am so sick of this falling out of love

Of this promising more than I have to give

Of going to bed hungry because I have given my share to feed something insatiable

The most selfish thing I have ever done is forgive you. Stopped picking fights just to stab you with the parts of me you shattered.

You cry me symphonies but I have never had much of an ear for music. Our desire dripping on carpet; harmonies in dissonance.

I dye my blood your favorite colour before I slit my soul open but you still don't come to the funeral. I told you once that I had poems running in my veins for you and you tore me open as I slept and drank me dry.

I tell myself it is not your fault you do not know how to be loved. And how often it is lost on us that nightmares are dreams too.

~what a miracle it is to hate you now

Is there anything more dangerous, Eve, darling, than a woman with a belly full of knowledge and lips stained in nectar?

~love, lilith

CARDEN GREENBRIAR HONORS VERBAL AND NON VERBAL CONSENT. AND. SO. SHOULD. YOU. WHAT A KING.