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 ^{(it's beta!)}

You said, I remember you were joking, but you said that if you died I could just eat you. Appealing to my cannibalistic sensibilities? My father always says that the key is efficiency, and my grandmother was a child of the depression. Why would I waste such a decent corpse on a single fleeting satisfaction?

And if I reanimated you, which I would’ve, you knew, you said that you could be my guardian.

At that time I maybe smiled and said something silly, but now I am in stasis, unable to digest all of the things you said… at that time.

If you died and I made you my guardian, I would choose a place far away and take you with me. I would have you build me a house of brick and mortar and inside it I would light a fire. You would stand outside, even though I had soaked your muscles in formaldehyde, watching the snow fall and trying to remember what your heart felt like.

You would please me. You would mean every word you said. I would puncture your gray skin with sharpened chutes of bamboo and watch your blackening blood ooze, just to make myself feel better, even though your nerves would be numb and unable to scream at you all of the pain you can’t feel. And after I had drained you I would stitch you back together and fill the empty cavity in your chest with ice.

God knows I could never melt you.