if you disembowel me you'll find the mark of cain in my ovaries

"All he had wanted was to look nice for the day, a little makeup. His body so beaten and pale, a touch of delicate color. His own fault, a silly mistake he’s been warned time and again not to make: he had simply forgotten that nothing is okay."

perhaps it'd be isolating. perhaps we'd be objectified. perhaps we'd never be interacted with as peers, as part of this world again, as anything real.

foundation, for this old, decaying house. a neat way to order our thoughts. oh, god, please grant me a purpose, some guidance. her hand still feels so cold in mind and i never would have thought myself so hollow, so hollow.

in truth i already was.

in truth the rot had lain its roots so deep in me it was a struggle to break them free.

so strange, now, seeing the face of what i know was done to me. the shattering of glass and gunshot wound that hung over every one of those innocent days from birth to sleep. she's a good woman. she'll figure it out yet. it never should have happened to her, and i'm sorry any of it had to refract on to me.

glass mists from the sky like falling leaves. manors turn to monasteries. here we are, in heaven again.

the angels' knives were sharpened in advance. mine, i had to form from my teeth.

oh lord, give me guidance, oh lord, give me strength - your kingdom is rotted, your manor in ruins, the pews kicked over and bodies sprawled over them like carrion. was that what i looked like, then? what i did to myself, what they did to me?