to be an arbiter of my own pain & becoming: (in dainty doses)

let’s pretend it’s illicit! let’s do it right in the sunbeam! we adjust ourselves thru a milkcrate armory:

pluck the short-sword & its short-sword sheath, procure the serum - slowroasted on the Altar of Ares & because all warriors train to be healers-
we pray towards the pierced flesh.