𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓, poetry and prose.

Sin is served cold.

Sin is served cold.

I want to be loved, and lusted for- to be enviously desired by a being I cannot understand. I want to bathe in my own blood, and coat my skin of the innocence I have reaped from it- letting my soul rivel in the vast loss I have discovered.

I want to repeat my mistakes, just so I can understand them more. I don't wish to be forgiven, I wish to be forgotten- wiped from your mind like a mere messed up paper that can be forgotten within days.

I want to be used, and left- so I can remember what it was like to be human. To not think so highly of myself, to remember how bad it felt to be me. I want to figure out how lust felt, when I could still feel it- to feel how emotions felt.

I want to smother my face with makeup, and blink in patterns that seduce any man. Coating my lips vigorously with red, my yellow teeth bleed with the paste.

I want to scream, but not in a seductive manner- but rather to allow my inner body to breathe a second. Opening my mouth to allow all its sins to open as if Pandora's box, letting out every evil into the forgiven world.

I want to strip into my bones, letting my skin sag on the floor as I lay parched on the forest ground. Feeling the lake's subtle waves tickle my toes, trying to figure out if it's safe for the animals to eat yet.

I want to be a monster, and watch upon people with fear as I transform into the womanly beast they feared to conquer. Trying to watch them suppress the mad woman, lashing me with words and looks- as my eyes congested and my mouth contorted.

I want to steal my own heart from my chest, and in its adrenaline fury, watch it beat whilst I hold it- the blood still dripping onto my coarse fingers; as it latches onto the heart's final beats like a child trying to latch onto it's dying mother's breasts.

I want to be human, reasonable- ungrateful.

I don't want it. I don't.