pathetic.

pathetic.

you died

the moment you based your worth on him.

but carving his name into your chest isn’t devotion - it’s ownership.

welcome to the herd.

he only tells you he loves you

after you’ve bled out.

he whispers gratitude while trailing kisses

up and down your corpse,

he weeps

as he tears into your cold pliant flesh.

there will be no burial.

your headstone

is a ledger of faded names.

he eulogizes himself,

thanks you for your sacrifice,

because you made him

a better person.

and he made sure

your death wasn’t in vain.

“what an exceptional woman,” he mourns.

“an angel — gone far too soon.”

when asked your name, he hesitates

then laughs.

he gazes

at the woman before him, studying her.

his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“well, that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

he says, stepping over your corpse.

“i would love to know yours, though.”

he grins,

his teeth are smeared with blood.

you wouldn’t accept help if offered.

and it never is.

your fate is an echo

of lives once

lived.