the TWENTY THIRD of SEPTEMBER, TWO THOUSAND and TWENTY.

every day he creeps closer.
soon, he will get a hold of me. soon, i shall bleed the poison that his claws sank into me.
his poison already floods my veins, the prettiest shade of melancholy blue.
blue that reveals itself violent red as it drips from my fingertips. oh, lust! oh, violence!
oh, to have my guts be his once and for all, for that which he already owns to be in his grasp!
true romance is not gentle, it is not calm. true romance is chaos, it is destruction.
to be thrust into the throes of his incendiary love... it must be destiny.
my last thought as i let myself be overcome by our demolition of bubblegum pink and scarlet red;
nail me on the cross. let me be your saviour.

take me back!