I drink your blood just like one drinks burgundy

Your hollowed love has, ironically, been a heavy burden to carry around
Dead weight, corpse shaped, in my heart
Freezing blood running in my veins
and restless hands;

Your ghost-like absence
eats away
At my lungs
Because I can’t let you out once I breathe you in.
It weakens my bones
So I can’t work my legs to leave you, through your bastard, bastard door (it has seen it all)

Your wording out my yet uncorrupted name
Fuels my hunger (that hunger you know so much about)
But your own blasphemic nickname has me tasting sour in the mouth

Your fury-twisted features
And your sinful, yet godly figure
Are stored up in my memories
Working my brain against me
To betray my blissful sleep
Bringing me your glaring eyes
At night, where they gnaw at my closed eyelids.

I feel sore in my head now, where you’re constantly making yourself confortable.

You’ve been paying me rent and making me company
in a way only you know how. I drink your blood just like one drinks burgundy.

— Alana Marroquim, Aug. 2021