I am Genesis. He is Die.
Genesis:
If, and I say IF, in my subconsciousness, I could cut open chests; I'd steal many hearts. At the very least, in my menial stage, I would place them delicately upon his doorstep. Fastening letters of contradiction with safety pins to the deteriorating flesh. At the very least. I could wash the blood from my hair, and assume a presumptuous identity of someone who really mattered. existed. I would steal away the best childrens' stories, taking Rapunzel from her loft, and replacing her with Charming. Though not as vindictive as to murder be her. I am Prince. I am Genesis.
Die:
I want to rule the world. After all, I am, Royalty. Undeserving as ever, but I am a Prince. Meek, to the untrained eye. I would control the oceans, and currents, and the insignificant double of waves here after crash upon the shores of some Far, far away land. I'd count myself lucky, and uncertain, if I got to keep one meaningful kiss from his lips. I'd place in a solid Gold chest and bury it off the coast of Spain. I'd lace ribbons to and fro, across his mouth. Delicately pushing a needle through the holes under his quivering lip, and silence him with sixteen new parallel wounds, ripped along his lips. I'd sew him up pretty, and I'd kiss the blood away; like some cleansing ritual in which he'd forcefully gladly take part in. He is different. My little octagonal dipyramid. He is Die.
If, and I say IF, in my subconsciousness, I could cut open chests; I'd steal many hearts. At the very least, in my menial stage, I would place them delicately upon his doorstep. Fastening letters of contradiction with safety pins to the deteriorating flesh. At the very least. I could wash the blood from my hair, and assume a presumptuous identity of someone who really mattered. existed. I would steal away the best childrens' stories, taking Rapunzel from her loft, and replacing her with Charming. Though not as vindictive as to murder be her. I am Prince. I am Genesis.
Die:
I want to rule the world. After all, I am, Royalty. Undeserving as ever, but I am a Prince. Meek, to the untrained eye. I would control the oceans, and currents, and the insignificant double of waves here after crash upon the shores of some Far, far away land. I'd count myself lucky, and uncertain, if I got to keep one meaningful kiss from his lips. I'd place in a solid Gold chest and bury it off the coast of Spain. I'd lace ribbons to and fro, across his mouth. Delicately pushing a needle through the holes under his quivering lip, and silence him with sixteen new parallel wounds, ripped along his lips. I'd sew him up pretty, and I'd kiss the blood away; like some cleansing ritual in which he'd forcefully gladly take part in. He is different. My little octagonal dipyramid. He is Die.