Self-destructive Tendencies

These wounds are healing, 

Skin is becoming pure,

The cat licks with delight at my wounds,

A little treacle of blood, she likes that,

To thornfield and away,

Farewell young mistress,

A burden niether the less, 

You had my heart, but not my soul,

You could never possess that,

The little I have left,

Still you skin was merged with mine, to form the darkest, deepest most intriguing of colours,

Art worthy for kings,

I need you skin, you heart, your blood,

I kept my soul but you fed it to keep me alive,

now it is empty,

Where is a knife, 

I must reverse this,

change this back to how they were

 

 

 

 

 

The End

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