gotham2

the heart ripping went better than expected. it was more of a slow tear, but the kind that stings for hours after like a thousand little paper-cuts. it pulsed in between my fingers in a subtle rhythm as i licked the blood clean and whispered to it how sweet it tasted. i left it on the shelf while i slept, and dreamt about it aching and falling to pieces. it was beautiful. but i when i awoke it was gone. i searched, frantic, forgetting that it wasn't really mine to begin with. forgetting how difficult it must be to be made hollow through someone else's hands and malice. now i believe the owner came back for it, leaving a trail of black and red fingerprints along my white walls.
that's okay, i didn't really know what to do with it anyways.