A Bloody Love Letter

You're the type of person I'd feed to the wolves or might even drink your blood with them to save my life and I wouldn't feel an ounce of guilt. Even though your flesh was the only thing I loved when it caressed my face. And I'd tear your heart apart with my bare hands because I was sweetly mistaken you'd handle mine with care.

Now what do I do? Seeing you in blood and bones I still think it doesn't compare to what you've done to me. I'm so heartbroken and disturbed, I want you again just to see you ripped and red at my feet. I'd give up my eyes you loved so much if it meant to bring you back and skin you to death, love. And when the last time comes, I will just not love you and leave you with your heart battered as it had never been, wretched as it has never felt, an organ which keeps you alive only to feel unloved, unimportant, and worthless by me. You would beg me to feed you to the hounds or to love you again.

As much as I would want to drink your tears and lick the blood at your chest, where you are tearing the skin just above your heart, oh lord it's hard to turn away. I would. I would leave you crying in your own despair and smile when you willingly give yourself to the flesh eaters. I have tears of joy when I realize your screams when you were getting torn apart, were nothing compared to when you begged me to love you again.

I still do.

Hiraeth