Crush my heart to pulp between your fingers; I’ll smile through the blood in my teeth and ask you to do it again, harder this time.
I’ve realized it doesn’t matter if I make love to the wrong person with my words.
The words don’t care. They want to be written either way.
Either way, I’ll bleed.
We’re all on a collision course with Death, and I want to meet Her fully, unashamed and decadent.
I’ll be the fruit, too sweet and gone to rot, tumbling from the branch.
Do it. Indulge me one last time, baby.
– Sara Myriad