*kisses you over the duct tape on your mouth*

I like my girls like I like my guns, cold and able to kill

there are only 3 genders and it’s blood, guts & gore.

I’d kill myself for you & I’d kill you for myself

romance is so fucking boring why don't you kill and eat eachother instead

“Dark angel divine.”

— Sarah Kane, from ‘Crave’ (via killingthespring)

let me.

i weep for desire under the rain of his compliments. a kiss against eternity, the world collapses at our union. the sharp edge sinks beneath our skins, the blade is ours and cuts through our shared heat. his words are swallowed like medicine and i'm in pain. full is the moon that cradles him endlessly under its glow. his kisses are distant delights, but his euphoria is intimate. i devour his sorrows, he consumes mine. he immerses his dreams in furious murmurs, screams when he can. and i touch him feverishly, he loves me, a little.

what a strange mind you have.

the palpitating shadow sums up its range of colors in a corridor. a handful against me, my arm, my shoulder, he kisses my collarbone. space is distorted, the losses from which we derive are asleep, and i am no more until he is. troubled fantasies, capricious, he knows what he wants. my sugar is bitter to him, he burns before my eyes. intravenous poison, master of his contempt, he's not a man. this pair of angelic feathers that never belonged to him whiten until they're translucent, and when we no longer think of them as matter, they burn, feather by feather. rising is the light he manipulates, one day good, one day bad. his place is in the exaltation founded by the unique, in the anarchy of red, in the heap of flesh, where the underworld tempests. and he is master.

hate, lover of death.

fire consumes the few patches of skin I've been able to shake. the nights are short, without the speeches of foreign tears, without the promises of hidden warmth. passing my thumb over the contours of your skin is beyond me. memories of the smallest colored fragments of your being are gone. if this is fate, i'll succumb to our parting. the abyss is hypnotic, you said. had I known, i would have confessed to the world the passion of our longing, the devotion of our past mirages. but your taste remains on my tongue, as do the words i should have spoken. this letter will be my last attempt. if the words reach you, come back and heal me. save our ties from the ardor of my afflictions.

to my dead lover.

if the crimson words discover you, i've had the pleasure of doing so too. these notes shape a piercing hymn that takes its cue from your eyes. if news of your utter silence were to reach me, your essence would linger within me. as much to venerate you as to abhor you, i would write to the cloudy plains that remain unvisited, those where the rising held our rivalry. the aversion could have stopped at a few caresses if our mutual thirst had been quenched there, only the presence of your ghostly fingers against the curve of my back, the sighs of your last thoughts hitting my neck and your cruel, heart-rending words lifted my deep avidity. in wishing you away, i hoped to find you again. our antagonisms have always been a nuisance to one and all. woe betide them. take my life if it's to get to you, yours will be mine in return.