#darkkin
You weren’t sure if he knew he was offering himself to the big bad wolf - but he definitely knew how to play Little Red enticingly well.
When you kiss, he breathes a chill into you. It starts at the base of your neck, shooting down your spine and toward your extremities. Goosebumps rise and the hair on your arms stands up as if it received an electric shock. Some people call it a cat walking over your grave. You think, well… It’s not impossible.
Control me. Violate me. Make me yours - in every sense of the word.
Dreams of him – that distorted version of him – brushing against your skin take over your mind. The thick grime covering his hands, the feeling of it too foreign for you to ever forget, stands out against the fuzzy recollections of him your memory can bring to the surface.
God, those dreams were common. Not nightmares, no. Something else. Something drowned in static and haunting, that leaves you waking in a cold sweat, aching for those hands against your skin again, aching for the promises left unkept by that twisted version of him - your tears calling out for him in the night just as much as your screams do.
Better the devil you know - and summoned - than the one that calls itself a parent.
He is well aware you would die for him - it’s howhe’s going to kill you that he hasn’t quite decided.
The void can watch you without eyes. Anywhere you look, he’s staring back at you. He’s proud of you.
I bite and I claw and I snarl, but babe when it comes to you, I roll on my back and demand for your attention with sharp red eyes.
You’ve done so well denying your urges. Closing your lips when you feel your fangs appear, squeezing your fists so hard it hurts, breathing through your mouth to give yourself a second’s relief from his scent. But now he’s asleep, curled against you like a napping cat… And you aren’t sure you can hold yourself back anymore. You’re thirsty - and nothing has ever smelled so delicious as him.
The clock’s slow and careful overhead. My mind shuts off. Searching for exit will prove fruitless. Your eyes are all I see. Quite frankly, they are all Iwantto see. You control me. You always will.
I can’t think past this madness swarming in my head any longer. I’ll give in. Anything to be put out of the misery of consciousness.
I’d prefer being broken.
Whimper and cry for me, love. It makes me want to devour you all the more.
I’d burn your name into my skin if I could - wear your initials like a brand. Mark me as your own, shackle me, claim me utterly. Cage me like a bird or tether me like a horse.
Tame me, master. I am yours.
Extradimensional lovers: for when being in the same time and place is overrated. He sends you his presence throughout the day, broadcasting thoughts into your mind. His lust for you surpasses the limits of a corporeal form, a sensuality beyond simple touch. Foreign and intangible, unknowable, aberrant love.
The CDs music fills the air as you take him apart. Hands on his neck, lips wandering his body, drugs and liquor fogging your heads as you fumble in the dark of the back of the van. Moans fill the silence the pauses in his songs leave behind. Even now, he sounds as beautiful as he does when he performs.
This is everything you never wanted to do with your life.
Why does it feel so good to be with him?
He’s your reflection - if you were better looking. Bright hope filled eyes, untainted despite his painful past, and a winner’s smile. Your twin brother. The better twin.
Even his lips are better than yours, soft and sweet as they slide against your own. You wish that he wanted this as horribly as you do. You can wait, though.
You’d wait forever for him.
His hands linger on your hips. Your breaths are whispers in the dark of the night; the rain like tears on your skin; blood tainting the purity of the pavement under your feet as he leads the dance of your demise. You don’t know his plan for you yet. You don’t need to. You’ll let him lead you in this eternal dance until he inevitably swallows your life whole.
You love him, after all.
Your palms are bloody. He would be proud. Your handiwork splays across your skin, carvings in His name, the eyes on your skin allowing Him to see you as often as He wants. If your Muse can’t be here physically, you’ll be His window. You’ll let Him see.
He’s the reason you have thick skin.
You walk on eggshells around me, expecting me to cut you down at a moment’s notice. I can see the trembling in your fingertips and the hesitation in your speech. It’s cruel to make you wait and suffer.
But I never claimed to be kind.
crawl through the window
cut open your heart
fog chasing your heels
with the wind pushing you back
a boy sits at the corner alone under the darkening sky
he offers his hands
(as if in prayer
reaching for the promise that light will come again)
he offers the skeleton of a small bird instead
(he put it together himself)
he tells you proudly
he put it together again and
he felt like a god
(the mercy and the creation of a life in his hands)
the eyes, ever watching, the heart too bloody and the heat too loud
the eyes, always watching, everything from everywhere and nowhere
the eyes, unceasing, smooth and slick is the way of the days
the eyes, now blind, forgiveness became sin
