Why love something monstrous if you are not going to love it wholly? If you believe that you, somehow, will be exempt from its claws, simply for loving it? Like a bad boy who might get his knuckles bloody but he never hits you and it’s all the fault of those demons in his head, anyway, and your soft skin and your sweet mouth are all that’s needed to exorcise them once and for all.
True monsters take responsibility for their actions. Put away that book and that bottle of Holy Water, there’s nothing you can exorcise here. Loving the monster means admiring the stain of you against its teeth. It means understanding that love is not a cure, it’s fury, my God, it’s fire. Call love what it is. Teeth. Blood. Sacrifice.
Published
Goldnwulf 