how is it, being loved? i ask the creature. its heart is an open grave i fell into. i dance in its center. to be loved is to be afraid. i taste sickly metallic rebirth on its tongue, mechanical addiction spilling from its lips. but what does it mean, to be afraid? turning its lunar-eclipse blind eyes away, the angel licks its lips. to be afraid is to crave. you've got a lot of nerve, it tells me, begging me to love you. your blood is disgusting, it says, but make yourself bleed for me. i want you to want me, somewhere, which is why i'm on my knees. what's it like to be alive? the winged monster snaps its charcoal pencil in half. i'll make you immortal, how about that? tilting its head into the soft line of my jaw. i'll even give you beauty. it sheds its skin. the green in my eyes growls at the thought. it would be a kind of murder, change. contortion. a kind of destruction. a stranger drinking my green tea and watering my plants. you'll get used to it. i shiver, you'll get used to it. nobody will love you like this - the face in the canvas flashes me a grin with a silver tongue and graveyard teeth - nobody will want you. i try my best to be tortured. i imagine myself with starved puffy eyes, a quivering cupid's bow. the bridge of my nose highlighted with blood. nobody will want you like this. my mouth is full of nails. the girl in the canvas has hammers for fists. you'll get used to it. you'll have no choice. what does it mean, to be yourself? the thing shrugs. nobody will want you.
