🪝

Tender be my hands where once I held your last falling tear. Bruised be my mouth as your drool has not overfilled the rim. My body is a gate of grief; the tools of my wrath, be they violent and gentle, be they both. Which one would you choose? To be aflame with my presence or to be abandoned with my absence? SACRALISED: ACHILLES. Laments your scarred sinews.