I feel so

compelled

to bash your head in
with my love.

When you're dead,
I'll fashion a paintbrush
from a lock of your hair.

I'll paint you on the ceiling
in violent shades of burgundy.

I'll lick the bristles clean.

I'll paint my taste buds
with the vibrant flavors

of your love.

I'll craft a cradle from your bones,
and wrap it taught with your dermis.

Your

marrow

will seep out,

like the

love

from my heart.

I'll keep you.
Forever.
A shrine.
A memento.
A collectable.

A macabre reminder
of my

love.