Eric LaRocca

Each precious thing I show you in this book is a holy relic from the night we both perished-the night when I combed you from my hair and watered the moon with your blood.

You've Lost A Lot of Blood

Scarly

Of course, I don’t remember what happened. How could he even ask me that? It’s as if time had become soup for me. A liquid to pass through. Something for my bones to soak while I melt away.

I felt as if I had been polluted—as if my body no longer belonged to me, as if there were a giant black tapeworm coiling itself inside me and growing more and more every time I thought of him and his penchant for marking their poor, defenseless bodies with himself—the pleasure he took from wiping himself on their bald heads.

When I leave the room, I bury him in my thoughts—he’s wrapped in hemlock and ivy until it smothers him, vines creeping from between his lips.

Before too long it’s a deluge, a geyser spraying me all over until I’m drenched in his blood—the warm, coppery scent sticking to me as if it were tree sap.

I yearned for him to flower with cancer—a small ball made of beeswax claiming him and taking him from me. Unfortunately, that misfortune never came to him.

There comes a point when you need to recognize the expiration date of a relationship.

You've Lost A Lot of Blood

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