My heart goes still as the walls of my temple crumble, as my knees buckle beneath me
I can still feel my sight blurring, my lips trembling,
a burning 500 degrees that spreads across the face like a hay fever, a wild fire.
I remember the stiffest of nods and straightest of faces, ignorance painted over my mouth and eyes so thick enough to give me lead poisoning.
I can’t stand to hear her voice in my head,
it drives me mad with a pleasure to see her die, a desire to see her break down and cry
to see the mascara smudge into her eyeballs and blood veins webbing towards her pupils
to slather and scramble her insides with my bare hands, her organs mixed up puzzle pieces I wave across the floor as messily as I can.
But she is in one piece, alive and healthy, hated by few and loved by many.
I wish I could say I never loved her, that I never worshipped her beauty and envied her tongue,
but that is all a lie.
Because in the end, even if I crave her blood, I crave her attention much, much more.