#rovinsky

But damn if there isn’t anything sexier

than a slender boy with a handgun,

a fast car, a bottle of pills.

uoa:

never give up on your dreams

keep sleeping

parrysh:

fuckingkavinsky replied to your post: this was suppose to be a short submiss…

“and he got his wish” wow fuck you

(remember that time k made a dream fire dragon and it swallowed him whole rEMEMBER)

Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire. 
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice. - Robert Frost

This boy had always been playing with fire, flirting with death. He prided himself on befriending-resurrecting-his demons. His particular demon’s mouth tasted of sweet honey, that turned to ash in his mouth. He was a cursed boy, trying to quench his thirst, satisfy his hunger. But it was never enough. It always left him empty. No pill or shot, no coke or warm mouth, could satisfy the burning. The itch. Like a bug under his skin, an infestation nothing could kill, until the boy made of ice.

Staring at the beasts fighting above him, he knew this is how it should be, how they should been. Fire and ice, dancing together, spinning, snapping at each other. Until he came along, with sharp edges and ice-cold stares, the boy had never really tasted true desire. They shared the same curse, or so the dark eyed boy thought.  But boy’s who played with fire couldn’t last long with boys made of ice, it was always going to end in disaster. He was always going to be cast out, he was not the welcomed kind. He’d built his altar on the black-asphalt, his church a white Evo. Communion took the form of pills, prayers, the language of the damned. The other boy belonged to the trees, who sang in latin. He belonged to a place the dark eyed boy could not enter. 

Boys like this were always meant to burn. They were never made for the light, they were made to be consumed by the darkness and he’d made his choice. Picked his side. It was never going to be you and me. Arms stretched out in surrender, welcoming the destruction of his world. It hit him like a wave of pure ecstasy. Finally a way to satisfy the hunger. The boy’s body fell from his self-made throne, the darkness welcoming him home, like a lost son. 

Dream me oh dreamer down to the floor open my hands and let them weave onto yours. Feel me, completer down to my core.

(this i what happens when you don’t sleep for like 24 hours, you start reading poetry and making crazy leaps between jersey trash and biblical figures, comparing cars to churches and roads to altars)