felinerotpup

[felinerotpup]

You suppose you only fall in love with doomed lovers. A man who talks too sweetly and smiles with the right amount of teeth is a man who knows he is the one who holds the handle of the knife. You are the one who holds the blade to your own pulsing jugular.

He is the scalpel and you are the pinned frog who must be carved open eventually: you must see yourself flayed open with your insides spilling out and understand that this was inevitable: this is the consequence of seeing the raised hand of a bad lover and lifting your shirt for him anyways. You are no sacrificial lamb - that’s far too pure and clean for whatever this is.

Because if a man is a dissector’s scalpel, you are the violent repeated bludgeon of a rock on your own head, a shrieking thing that cries and sobs but gurgles with glee beneath all of it. it’s better to be hurt than to be bored. You clamber on with a crushed skull and a flayed stomach and you crawl towards the next pearly glint of a charming smile, the next metallic glint of a raised knife and you beg for more.