Ope wide the maw, scrape in the heart. Chew. Savor. Swallow.
You've spit my mortal flesh and turned it by thy machinations, so vigorous thy art that the straps that once did heave my breast lie sepulchral. I wish to die--yet I lie.
How sweet is it on thy tongue--does it sweeten the more it tastes? Or does it turn to bile, ash, crust, earth? Does it sustain thy hate, or does its savor erase your memory?
Please you; say neither. I would not be hated and I would not be killed. The memory of me being self, I cannot conscience murder or wroth.
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This reminds me of Wesley in *The Princess Bride.*
ReplyDeleteAlthough he didn't seem to mind being hated, he had that whole machine encounter, and all.
Source material?
The phrase "Ope wide the maw" and a half hour letting words pour all over my subconscious.
ReplyDeleteI think that when you've forgotten someone, you've truly killed them for yourself.
So you both do and don't wish to be forgotten?
ReplyDeleteEverybody does, don't they? If they hate their ex, they want to be dead to that person in fleeting moments to show that they don't care, or that they are "over it," or that they won't see that person anymore. If they love their ex, they want to be dead to forget, or to close an avenue, or to free that person from the spectre of the pain of dating.
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't know.
ReplyDeleteThis suddenly struck me as a very Byronic mode of thought and made me want to buy you a bear.