Chapter Text
I am sick
I want my bones to rattle when you embrace me
I am sick
I want my ribs to protrude so much that they adorn my empty
stomach like a broken and bruised pair of angel wings
I am sick
I want my arms to look like tree branches that may snap at the slightest of touches
I am sick
I would sell my soul to be jutting angles instead of rounded curves, smooth planes instead of scarred expanses
I am sick
But it’s worth it, right?
Tell me it’s worth it
