“Waiting for the neverending and plaguing over the temptation to end ourselves. You’re fucking ripe and ready to be cut, but this moment only comes once, we mustn’t rush.”
I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was to make you wait. To make you beg. I wept until my tears walked down a path drowning a second face. It’s almost as if they were coming home, taking a direction they only knew, much like I will be soon. These final days seem to be the most important, waiting for the purity to ripen before cutting it like a surgeon. Removing the parts that weighed me down for so long and eviscerating the filth from your form. Now a warm, stringy comfort blanket shaping my dreams for the next thirty-three terms of lifebed confessions. I’ve waited for this day and you should know that it has waited for you. As I take the first step from purgatory, I am met by the stench of the first body laying along my path home. It’s not an omen to me, beautiful bodies of dedication spidering almost pointing me to peace. There’s a lovely bouquet for me there reminding me of all the deaths I have lived and all the angels I’ve impaired. Look to the moon. Look when it’s full. That’s the time everything will be revealed and I will be whole.
