My body is a temple, which I will not desecrate. The phrase “virgin blood” is misleading. It means blood that has not previously been used in a sacrifice, not the blood of a virgin. Even that explanation is misleading because isn’t sex a sacrifice? Do you not open up yourself and slit your own throat, bending backwards to appease a higher need? I read that the female body is like a wet open wound, always warm. If you apply pressure on the words, repeat: my body is a temple, the bleeding must stop. Will stop. Think Russian roulette with knives, stabbing the table in the spaces between your fingers so quickly that fear becomes adrenaline, faster and faster. Sitting in your cousin’s white Chevy and the air conditioner is broken and she asks Have you ever? You tell the truth, which is no. Which means I can sacrifice myself twice.
Lydia A. Cyrus is a creative writer from Huntington, West Virginia. She has non-fiction work featured in several journals, including Luna Luna Magazine where she serves as a staff writer. Her poems can found in places like Quail Bell Magazine and Moonchild Mag. She is a proud Mountain Woman and loves her dog.