Venom
Every word she spoke burnt my ears with venom spewing from her tongue. The sting it caused was felt coursing through my blueish veins — embedded into my blood — which became my being, becoming hers truly, even in Death.
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Her soft kind words that filled the maggot-infested heart with a warm ray of hope and love, her love — laced with the sweetest torment imaginable. Her voice, cutting through my ears like daisies blooming atop my grave. The dirt above my lifeless rotten body sang in her presence, seeking nothing but the echo of her words for endless hours.
If she had uttered those words — if she spit her gruelling venom on my grave, I would’ve bathed in it for eternity. Even as the venom ate through my skin and bones, even the screams of agony would sound like symphonies if it was her venom which had ruined me. Only for her words, was my cold body alive, hanging on by the threads she so carefully knitted into my soul.
And when the venom had done her bidding — when I was left broken and dismantled under the very dirt which worshipped her, I realised, there was no venom. It was simply her, venom was her being, her nature, her truest self.
