I’ll be thick with the mess of it. The redness of it. The thorns and the petals of it. The bleeding at the edges of it. Give it to me. Divine in its hot red wax and burnt embers. Divine in its no place to hide, here I am, peek-a-boo of it. I’m rich with the taste of it. I thirst for it. Give it.

I changed my text alert tone to a Witch’s cackle and I have NO REGRETS.