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“How does a monster become a monster?
It starts with love,
always love,
and they ate it
in greedy handfuls,
back when they were
whole and beautiful
and the light waltzed
on their skin like stars.
It starts with sin,
always sin,
like fingerprints on the spine,
like a devouring,
like singing while Eden floods,
like singing with fists in their mouths.
Before a monster is a monster,
it is swollen with love,
it presses sin flush against the wall,
it pretends that it knows
what to do with its hands.
And then the love vanishes,
it is plucked right out of their mouths,
and the monster is desolate,
and the monster is withering,
and all that is left is sin
and a gaping hole
where the heart should be,
overgrown and abandoned,
stars spilling out.”
— Emily Palermo, And Maybe I Haven’t Been Kissed in a Long Time