𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐀 [ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ]

- 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃

As the flowers whisper in bloom and the air grows warm

A hundred arrows pierce my chest, yet none strike my heart.

I think that Eros meant for this to be,

-I mean, mercy isn't really the entertaining option, is it?

As I yank the arrow from my ribs, the warmth of the blood escaping this godforsaken body electrifies me all over again.

It burns, god it burns, but it means that I feel.

And feeling is all that is left of me.