I want them to split me open—dig their fingers into my ribs and pry them apart.
To hold my heart in their hands, feel the pulse of it against their palms, my blood staining their skin.
I want them to pick my bones clean, crack them open, **** the marrow dry.
I want to be ruined by them, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of their name on what's left of my tongue.
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 9:13 PM UTC
I want them to split me open—dig their fingers into my ribs and pry them apart.
To hold my heart in their hands, feel the pulse of it against their palms, my blood staining their skin.
I want them to pick my bones clean, crack them open, **** the marrow dry.
I want to be ruined by them, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of their name on what's left of my tongue.
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