your pilgrimage to my heart was a long journey; you were a walking dead carcass, charming but corrupt, ready to rot my blessed heart. you gripped my flushed heart in your hands and slaughtered it like people butcher sheep and lambs in Eid al Adha for the feast of sacrifice. i tried to convince myself that it's okay; my heart is no organ to you that's easily analysed in some biology class, even though i wasn't sure if your sacrification was out of love or rage. So in the name of God, in the name of you, in the name of all of the forgotten scapegoats, i beg to all the deities and gods that reciprocate my thoughts to make my commemoration nameless. you were Azrael outside, a psychopomp that is at the helm of escorting the inanimate's broken souls (such as mine) after their deaths. you were meant to do that to me, but instead you chose to sacrifice my sacred heart for your mere satisfaction. tell me, how will your god react to that? in my religion, they said you have a scroll that details my fate, so breaking me into halves and consuming me later on was all fated? tell me, how would fate react to that? crimson eyes & four thousand wings & half broken, half functional & oodles of tongues that're sticking with honey-dripping lies and fibs, all ready to consume my shattered pieces that are left of me, and how the realisation hit me when I knew that my meat was your dinner along with your brothers and sisters, feting over my skin, the sound of bumping cups cheering all over heaven, cheers to the sacred heart! and from all of your insulting minds. The rest of my meat was distributed on the razor-sharp bridge that divides paradise and hell.
