Bratova

I don’t want your heart. I want the part of you that obeys without question.

I drip into your thoughts slow—sweet at first, then sickening.

You’ll think you’re making choices, but they’re mine.

I don’t need to raise my voice. I unmake you in whispers.

You’ll decay beautifully under my thumb,

paying to feel useful, desperate to be hollow.

I don’t ruin you. You offer yourself to be undone.

Sincerely, your newest obsession, your goddess, your everything.