IRC-Galleria

For you, my heart... Ripped from my chest. Eviscerated, I am. And if I could, I would plunge my fingers... through my chest and rip out my heart and give it to you. A pulpy mass... of morbid diathesis.

In addition to my heart, there are some small organs that want to give you: glands... sweetbreads... variety meats.

I'm offering these gifts. Rare gifts.

I know that they don't amount to much in the face of what you've given me.

I've heard these organs can't survive outside the body for more than a few hours. But I'll try to get there as soon as I can. Whatever happens, it will be on me. On my heart.