The Alter Is Not Big EnoughI pick at the metal parts of you in the hope that you bleed with crimson assurance for me to know that we are just like each other. The burnt meat stuck between my teeth taste like tears from rotting eyes. I'll find the carbon core of your body and rearrange the chips inside for you to be able to love.More Like This
The edge of darkness forms a dress around me. Lace over my moth eaten face. Your bride.
Holy. Matri. Mony.