Feast on me
Since when did daytime ever sting you? The slightest touch of golden sunlight on your pale skin makes you glow, diminishing the cries that come out of your throat. I find your glowing appeal and poignant cries beautiful, enough to instill an overwhelming urge in my body — it wishes to embrace yours as I gaze upon the sight of sunlight painting your skin.
Your eyes pierce through me, the very same eyes whose irises you told me were poured with burning wine. Did your eyes savour it? It seems as though they did. They must have, I see the fire burning. Tell me, I beg you, that my eyes are deceiving me. There is this hope in me that they are, then there would then be no need for me to convince myself that the fire isn’t embracing your body before I could. Could you stop it from wrapping you whole?
The teardrops that are trickling from your cheeks down to your jaw match the color of your eyes. The frown-like grin you’re giving me shows me teeth that were sharpened with those of another person, so you’ve told. Was it torturous? Were your cries as wretched as they are now? You never told me. Now I’m forced by my beating heart to listen to the clamour coming from a living dead. Curiosity is bleeding through me, but impulse is filling me back up.
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I’m lifting my right foot off the ground, placing it forward, followed by my left foot doing the same, and repeating the pattern until you’re merely inches away from where I now stand. My knees drop, and my hands immediately hold you close. I think to myself, “what a blessing it is to have a better look at what makes you breathtakingly inhuman.” I examine your pitiful eyes and watch as blood mixed with saliva drips down your two sharpened teeth. “Elegant” immediately enters my mind.
As if on cue, I mindlessly tilt my head to the side, baring my neck just for you. Feast on it. While the fire is setting you ablaze, let my blood extinguish it. Pour the same burning wine into my irises and sharpen my teeth using yours, and transform my urge into thirst. “You’re trembling,” I utter. All you give me in return is a low whimper which says everything I need to know. Are you scared? I am left with no choice but to press you against me even harder, even at the cost of my teeth being sharpened until there is not a single bit of it remaining. You’re a foolish one, aren’t you? Laughter echoes out my throat as I feel your arms tightening around me, perhaps a bit too tight. With my plumped lips placed against your forehead, and our arms wreathing the other’s body, the fire perpetually crackles.
Turn me into what you loathe — into what you hated but became. Impart on me what tore your heart apart and the anguish that came with it. Let us be one of the same as we near our demise.
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