I want to hear your whispers. It goes beyond the sounds you make when you are thoughtful or lost - far beyond sound itself. I seek the inner voice that whispers to you - the ones of conscience, reason, logic, passion, lust, fear, hope - every single voice uttered in your head, I want echoed in mine so that I can understand you better.

How else to defeat you? Peel away at each of your layers until only your core remains, the nakedness of true self that we each bathe in nightly during the dark hours between midnight and dawn. Those voices. I want to devour your thoughts, consume them, digest them, until they live inside of me and can be corrupted by me, twisted and returned by my own insidious whisper in your ear during our long nights somewhere between fucking and making love.

I don’t want to destroy you - my nature is to conquer, I can’t deny that, but I don’t want to reign over a kingdom of hate and bitterness left behind from a conflict. I want you whole, your truest self. I want you to cry, cleanse yourself in a rain of tears that erase the pillars of salt holding you on this fragile plain between being alive and actually living your life.

I want my corruption to erase your own. It won’t save me, but it is what I can give you, and perhaps you’ll think better of me for it after it’s done.

Quod me nutrit me destruit.