when i tell you these things
i find myself wishing i could carve these words from my throat.
let the design of my mortality serve as the vessel for my tortured heart. silent as i let them gush down my chest and seep through my fingers tightly wound around the bloodied gash.
i see you approach as a holy figure, one whos soft hands could bear to hold the fountain of my neck closed. feel the wound close beneath the touch ive sought for so long.
perhaps you'd drink from it, feeling your lips dance lewdly along the edges of my pain. i ask you kiss me with those bitter blood-stained lips, make me choke on my words and taste their imperfection. take all of me into your mercy, hold me as your sacrifice in the light of the gods i betrayed. cherish the feeling of life fleeting beneath your fingertips.
it'd be easier that way.