You have my heart, take my liver.
You f*cking Butcher.
Carver. Carving me up.
You can’t dissect me anymore.
Not any more, than I dissect myself.
Every word, Every touch, Every moment.
I have picked them apart.
At seeing them broken, I have reassembled them dutifully.
I wrap myself in a mossy blanket of misery.
Wet leaves stuck to my face, forest kisses.
A slippery Selkie out of her skin.
I want out. Out of this forest.
To transform back to the cunning sea.
She will heal me.