Maybe I sacrificed too many parts of myself for your ritual.
You ate all of my flesh and everything I had left to give.
Maybe I fed you the wrong body parts.
Maybe I fed you the wrong skin.
Now I'm dead living or half alive somewhere inside you.
Until you digest me in a year or two.
Maybe if you cut open your head and perfomed surgery on your brain.
You would find me swimming in the deepest corners of your mind or consciousness but we both know that's fictional.
— The End —