I try to erase my feelings of pattering heart and sweaty palms as I rip your corpse into strands. You are to be served with a dark red wine and then when the meal is done they'll be picking their teeth and exchanging flighty comments about the stocks while your ghost stands there screaming a silent plea for help. you watch them play with the remains of you left on their plates candlelight gleaming in their eyes and fork tines and curse the day you said you loved me.