eulogy 4
This is not the soft complaint of loss. This is the shout of filth. I am summoning the Priest to strip away the stolen wealth— The cheap, borrowed shine of that woman I once wore. It is not grief I banish. It is the whore I can endure no more.
Call down the holy fury. Let the ritual be crude and loud. My confession is the fuel; my anger is the shroud. I command the Exorcist: find the black knot in my core, The soulless, lying thing that betrayed the vow I swore.
Tear it out! Break the link! I will be undone and bare, A vessel emptied of the demon that thrived on cheap despair. I want the holy salt to burn the skin of my old lie, And leave no trace of the slut who watched her husband die.
713
Chloe
