☆》𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙉 𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙄𝘼 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙀𝙎

some time later, two bodies would be found in the forest. two empty shells devoid of soul data. they would soon become a part of a bigger pile of meat, eventually dissolving into soil fertilisers for a world we're part of no longer.

he’s my saving grace, my oasis, my quiet place, my lover, my protector, my baby boy, my other half, my moon, my life, my— ( damn. what isn’t he? )

… mine.

to be honest, you scare me. i'm terrified of letting you in, of seeing myself more clearly through your eyes wondering if i'm good enough, or if one day i'll lose you.

learn in by heart, now the hardest part comes when staggering doubt paralyzes you
and then you fall apart like a house of cards, might as well disregard it as a cursory mantra.

SO I WILL TRY AGAIN, AND PERHAPS WHEN WE BECOME WHOLE, IT'LL HOLD. . .

lord, please forgive me, for i have sinned, i mean no harm, please please please please...

i am a demanding creature. i am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. but i am your servant. when you starve i will feed you; when you are sick i will tend you. i crawl at your feet. for you alone i will be weak.

"HOW STUPID COULD SOMEONE BE TO BELIEVE THEM?" / "HOW STUPID WOULD YOU HAVE TO BE TO BELIEVE THEM?"
I WAS THAT STUPID. I AM THE ONE YOU DEMONIZE.
I WAS THE ONE WHO SUFFERED, AND STILL STUPID, IN YOUR EYES.

now i know why i was drawn to you. we have the same darkness inside.

Feel it's breath
On your neck
The teeth
On your face .

because a man is taught that his anger is a: a god, b: a burning house, a burning church, a girl with a phone cord wrapped around her neck, broken capillaries like swarmed fish.

" they can torture you. they can make you say anything. but they can't make you believe it. they can't get inside you.
they can't get to your heart. "

lord, please forgive me, for i have sinned, i mean no harm, please please please please...

ares, a mean dog, always angry, baring his fangs, sinking his teeth into whoever comes close. ares, a bad dog, but a good weapon.

M — MY EYES ! SOMETHING FEELS WRONG ! THERE'S SOMETHING CRAWLING IN MY EYES !

you mean well, and i do love you still, i really do.

achilles, achilles, achilles, come down.

truthfully, because of my bad memory, it feels like i'm dead sometimes. or back from the dead. like a ghost or □□□. it just feels like i won't ever get to know who i truly was before. it's like... trying to be yourself is hard when you don't even know that person fully.

please, god, be kind to me. this skin is tainted by wasted days, this youth is stolen by aching bones. please, god, i am too young to have these scars.

you are too fragile to be human! the pull of blood through your veins, the brush of life against skin — to even have skin at all, is a physical agony.

please, god, be kind to me. this skin is tainted by wasted days, this youth is stolen by aching bones. please, god, i am too young to have these scars.

( it's a plush doll of an angel with bear - like characteristics.
you're struggling to remember the name of this one.... )

blood is tough to scrub away, isn't it ? my spit and blood is still there, on your hands, i can see it.

and someone advised to change shoes. after all, the best view is from below.

now, to the best of your memory, what is, or was, the colour of your mother's eyes?

finndu mig í framtíðinni.

my farewells to the fields, to the man made of straws, TO MY NAME ! ! ! (to the hills . . .)

" it's not up to me " , or so i've been told.
" this is the nature of the female skin. "

i don't like it, but my hands are tied. i just want you to know this: if i ever get the chance to betray you, i will. if the opportunity arises to pay you back, i’ll take it. you’ll never be able to trust me.

you are one of god's mistakes, you crying, tragic waste of skin, i'm well aware of how it aches, and you still won't let me in.