this is nothing but lobotomy. this heart is a knife, this knife is a heart –– it’s a cold - steel blade going down, down, down, with the tenderest lover strokes. a russian - roulette of caress, of affection; of his mother’s eyes blown rabbit - wide. her love is boiling hot water, her love is a scar. now say his name like a tombstone –– erect and so proudly dead - boy - walking. bury his todoroki and decay his shōto and rip it from his body because what’s a dead boy need a name for anyways? he’s just a body, and he’s just like those flowers, and he’ll rot, he’ll rot, he’ll rot. ( he’s rotten. ) call him behind his back, call him like you have a lump of meat in your throat –– like you’re eating him up. shōto is the name of a flower only bloom’d at moonrise, only once –– he only lives once. call him whispered in your pillow, like praying for him is a sin.
