And eye for an eye, and also a heart for a heart, I suppose. I've been contemplating this idea for a while, and after reading rohanfox's story Heart (which you should go read because it's awesome, and sweet, and beautiful, and because I told you to), I just had to go through with it. This is dedicated to her because she's British, and awesome, and my new best friend.
Also, holy cannibalism, Batman! Beware the mental fuckery ahead. I swear, I am the worst vegetarian ever xD I won't eat animals, but I'll do this to people. What the actual fuck?
The quote at the beginning is from the manga "Boys Next Door." Go read that, too, because it makes me sob like a baby.
No problem! Kill me!
But only if after you kill me, you eat my dead body.
Cook me for a day and a night… make me into stew.
Afterwards, suck my bones clean.
When my entire body has been eaten by you, I can finally become your blood and flesh.
Then I'll belong entirely to you…
I live in here because I love you.
I know I never told you, but I do. I'm sorry for that. For loving you, I mean. I'm sorry that I love you. I don't think that I'm really sorry that I never bothered telling you of my affections.
And I guess… I guess you love me too, right? Is it okay for me to think that? Or is "love" too weak for you? I though that it was too weak for me, but I suppose that I was wrong. Can you even love? I think I'll pretend that you can and that you do. It makes things easier for me.
That's why I'm here. I'm here because you put me here. Because you ate me. Because you love me.
I came here because you love me, and I stay here because I love you.
You killed me. I don't think I blame you much for this. Shit happens, I suppose. I betrayed you, and I lied, and I died. I may even have deserved it, I should think.
And you ate me—all of me. Not just my heart. You cut up my arms, and my throat, and my stomach, and you ate everything that came out. Every drop of blood, every bit of intestine, every chunk of organ; it was all eaten. You ate it like a filthy, greedy, gluttonous, lovely monster. You saved me for last. Me: the heart. The tiny, dead, broken, bloody, beaten, beating little heart. You ate me last, and chewed me to bits, and tore me apart, and devoured me. Sucked the blood clean off your fingers. And now, I am here. Because you ate me—because I love you.
You killed me because you love me and because I lied. And I'm sorry that I lied. Will you let me out? As much as I adore you, it's very dark in here, and I'd like to get out. I can't see. It's all black. But I suppose I don't have eyes, do I?
Then again, I don't have much. Just a dying, decaying, broken heart that loves you. It sits—I sit in your stomach and die and decay more and more all of the time. It's so unpleasant. Please let me out.
Because I love you.
But I do live in here. This is where I live! This is my stomach, and my organs, and my blood, and my intestines, and my body! This is my home! This is where I now live. This is where I breathe, and sleep, and think, and feel, and love, and cry…
This is where I live. And this is where I'll die.
But I'm just a dying, decaying, broken heart. And I stopped beating so long ago. When you killed me. When you ate me.
I suppose that this is more of my grave than it is my home. But, I think that's okay. Your stomach is far better than a hole in the ground.