Cannibal

She laid me down on the table like it was her altar. I was her sacrifice. Ripped ribs from my chest just to hold my heart. For me, this was love. I was so consumed by her that it felt holy to let her consume me. I wanted to know that a part of me would live inside her forever. I doubt it was love for her. 

She was the executioner. Perhaps she loved her job, but even as she sank her teeth into my insides, there was no look of mercy or adoration in her eyes. No hunger, no reverence - the look of boredom. The look of someone who’d already performed this ritual with countless others. My blood dripped down her chin. Wine of my own making. 

She wiped it away courteously. Ketchup that had spilt and messied her makeup. That same look of quiet frustration. A look of frustration towards me for bleeding so much? 

I lay there growing cold as the fire of our love sizzled and spat against the blood. 

Maybe the lamb was a fool for loving the farmer.