Her words burned into His skin relentlessly.
Each letter carved slowly
As if time was as unimportant as the amount of blood He shed
her feather tipped pen was beautiful as was she
No matter how foul the words etched into His back
He awoke with glorious purpose
He was her parchment
At night, He would rub his skin numb
Not trying to erase the words but rid Himself of everything otherwise
He was smart enough to know what she was doing was wrong
Yet too naïve to care
her love was like calligraphy
And He was desperate to stop the ink from dripping down the page

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