𝗗𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗬 𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗥𝗬 ᵖʳᵒˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ

for the savagery

blood; runs within me fast and with a purpose.
oiling a diligent machine, a soft pink muscle
residing in between bones and gore,
a self-sustaining contraption
that pumps the very thing that sustains it,
until it finally gives in to its abiding injuries.

what if you and I became hearts in each others' chests?
a labor of love from me to you, from you to deprived-me.
nourishing your soul with my purest strain of agape
and you nurturing mine with your unremitting warmth
until depletion gets the best of us,
until the pain renders us divine.