What if I’m a lost lamb? What if I’m meant for the slaughter and I know it in my bones. Find me a lion, a monster, a beast.
Succumb to my softness, feed on my delicate nature, I know you can taste it in the air; I’m prey and I was born for this.
What gives me away? How can you tell I need it? My grief tastes like masochism, flesh and blood from biting my tongue. I want your teeth and your attention. I want it to hurt.
Heart - Sapphic Slumber Party #7