afternoon on valentine’s day

they’ll text me eventually. when they get horny enough. when the bell chimes and it is feeding time and i have to rip myself into bite sized pieces to feel a semblance of warmth. most of the time i like it. endorphins, hormones, flooding every inch of my skin - tingling, sizzling, hot. i feel so consumable. so alive on the verge of death. on the verge of something permanent. until the wet after. the alone in a dark room. the crying on the shower floor. going to bed covered in their pheromones. trapped in a dream of waking up next to him and not seeing a violent hunger in his eyes. he’ll beg me for another round, and i’ll feed him. and he’ll leave until he starts to feel peckish once more. it’s valentine’s day, and a man asked me if i would fuck him today. he said it really turns him on that he would submit to a thing he believes is subhuman, a creature that he says he would only ever keep as a pet to play with. i almost cried about it. about being fuckable and unlovable because of these things that i eat and inject into my body. i almost forgot the woman i was. and maybe this is who i am. a craving and nothing more. but i did not raise myself to be broken by these things, so i will continue to dream and wish upon stars. 4:18pm, 2/14/2025
                                                         
                                                                                                                                               v. estrella 2/14/25