Mercury runs down my willing arm, etching the thinnest line of red as it passes, sapphire fine, through my flesh. I divide myself from myself and like the ouroboros, I devour my own tail, find that the hand around my throat is my own, find that the person who stole the breath from my lungs is the grinning me on the other side of the mirror and before I can beg for mercy, the reflection shatters and I find myself alone once more.

There are silver platters and glassware, the refracted light bouncing around the dark manor until I can no longer make out the veil that separates reality from fiction. My rib cage has been dressed with tomatoes and morning glories, drizzled with honey and red wine. I am terribly concerned about the white carpet; what would happen if I were to pour myself a Domaine de La Romanee-Conti? I stir sugar cubes into my tea but it comes out tasting like bone.

I am destroying everything that I create. I rake my nails down my arms, sitting surrounded by shredded papers and words whose inked necks have been snapped in half, the limp body of eloquence draped over my leg like roadkill. I wonder when the vultures will descend upon us.

I am waiting and have been waiting for such a time now, so long that my blood has thickened to a paste, that hyenas have broken through my bones with a sharp crack, and lions have licked my insides clean of marrow. I am waiting for penance, waiting for penitence, waiting for forgiveness from a me that has decided I deserve no such thing years back.

I take my clavicle in both hands and break them apart, the whispered wish of wholeness slipping from between my lips. I speak those words and carve out another slice of my thigh to serve.

for @avolitorial and their february love prompts | prompt #5 - we consume what we adore