Her love was fury

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas


Her love was fury.  It was a rolling boil that scalded deep and left scars that would never fully heal.   She burned her way into my mind and overthrew the programming only to replace it with her own.  She swallowed me hole and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it, if I even wanted to.

She used me up and I withered away gloriously.  Her teeth bit my lips each time we kissed.  Each kiss killed me more, yet I came back again and again.  I died against her kisses.  She smiled and I couldn’t move.  She feasted and I begged for more.

When she was done I wasn’t.  It was over, she was over, we were over.  I couldn’t move.  She weakened me to my core.  Then off she went for more victims.  Those lucky fools.  She was gone but will never stop haunting me.

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