I am sitting alone in the basment with gregorian chanting wafting out of the machina speakers with the scent of pumpkin. Soon I will go and add spices to my mixture, and create the beginnings of a pie.
We carved our orange friends on thursday after dark, giving them personality and depth. Two small round balls, now moldering on the step were mine to discover. Wreaths of shape and artistry chiseled out of them with my knife. I put a sky on one, and on both, broken hearts. M’Love made of the large one a monster. Appropriate for the size, and amusing for the fangs.
Friday was spent through the city with purpose. A corsage of velvet roses, fangs and red handcuffs. I dropped off a wedding dress for my brother and found my way to the isle with the flour.
Chain was bought and links, to wrap around my wrist. I tore my eyes out, and let them fall from my face. I ate them, I, Love. Black and red flowing, they were mine and I consumed the gaze of all who looked upon me. I reigned the queen of lonliness, the ghoddess stereotype of death and longing. The western world.
Today I am cooking. Pounds of flesh boiling on the stove. I will simmer them until they are nothing. I will tear them, I will shred, I will destroy the bonds until there is nothing to tear. Then I will add cinnamon and cloves.