Sugar

by Mia Ballard

I no longer feel the need to dim my own light to match his dull glow.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” I whispered, leaning over him, my voice soft but deadly. “You manipulated me, broke me,

and now look at you—broken, bleeding, finally feeling a fraction of the pain you left me with.”

I long to be ravaged, to be claimed by a hunger that shouts, you are wanted.