jeakerma
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“Big doe-like jewels stared at him, their color engraving itself into Tom’s heart. That shade of green, so similar to a precious and pure emerald, made its way straight to his very soul. It wasn’t delicate. There was no pleasure in the process. It was as if something, or someone, stabbed him in his guts. Deep and brutal. Not clean but messy. He could feel his entrails being ripped open, feel the blood flowing out of his body as the blade was savagely withdrawn.”
“All that is not equal to the awful wonder
Of your biting saliva,
Charged with madness, that plunges my remorseless soul
Into oblivion”
- Le Poison, Charles Baudelaire, English trad.