#deathkin

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.

He is well aware you would die for him - it’s howhe’s going to kill you that he hasn’t quite decided.

I found warmth in your back pockets. Your kisses taste like ash and graveyards; trading smoke between barely parted lips, shotgunning to get a taste of what death feels like. Your touch is poison and leaves me with nightmares, but nothing is more cathartic than to die by your hand night after night.