𓃥

After you I was a dank slaughterhouse. Strips of flesh hung from iron hooks in meat chandeliers. The ruined remains glittered in the darkness like a mouthful of gold teeth. My cleaved soul dreamed to the whir of maggots sucking through the cement. I was a stinking room of self-hate and old blood, and it took years before I stopped clawing at my own throat like an animal at the stench of good love. I still rupture into this ugly, keening cry when someone cracks a window to let new light in.