ore gothic
she’s pretty, painfully so. it starts off as a crack in the middle of your forehead.
saccharine. sugar granules spill from the cracks in your teeth in lieu of words. you bend over. more, and more, and more sugar. it’s cascading. you suffocate as it inevitably fills your lungs. you wake with two teeth on your pillow. they’re yours.
“i need to go,” but you do not let her go. no one lets her go. she is trapped. safe.
her blood is on your hands. you keep carving. you feel her nails in your windpipe. you keep carving. you feel her nails under your skin. you keep carving.
she runs away but you can’t catch her. you swear you feel your hand balling in her collar. she is two feet ahead. you gain ground. you touch her back. three feet.
darkness falls. she is alone. you swear she is with someone else. her shadow doubles. no one else is around.
she isn’t the one that killed you. someone is watching.