must be something on your mind. (something lost, for me to find)
This is one of those times where you go into it knowing that deep inside you want something strong like this, want something this violent and burning and beautiful-
and you know just as well that this is ephemeral.
We walk into this, hands darting tensely around the space between each other's knuckles and palms, faces grim, set with determination- stubbornly willing ourselves to force this gritty, ripped, muddy-paged storybook bullshit romance into existence long enough to flare up the dead hopes inside us that such passion, no matter its brevity, is still possible. That it can still well up blossoming and roaring from the cores of us.
We look into each other's eyes and speak words like stones cut to pierce so the scars will promise us remembrance long after the cum has dried, after the tear stains have been washed with the soiled sheets, after countless showers fail to abrade the imprint of one another on our skin.
It will not last.
This will not become forever, but goddamn it we'll lust as if it's never occurred to us and go down fighting to the floor each time, gasping in triumph over each other in a war that exists purely in each of our minds and bears no similaritIy to the other's struggle.
What reason could there be for such gorgeous depravity?
It's simple.
human fucking nature.
you are going to hurt me so badly and fuck I hope I break you down to your motherfucking atoms.
let's go, baby, our kingdom awaits. i'm going to snort you like last year's coke and watch myself bleed through your ravaged veins until we can't separate ourselves from one another.
(and this is no fairy tale ending.)
and you know just as well that this is ephemeral.
We walk into this, hands darting tensely around the space between each other's knuckles and palms, faces grim, set with determination- stubbornly willing ourselves to force this gritty, ripped, muddy-paged storybook bullshit romance into existence long enough to flare up the dead hopes inside us that such passion, no matter its brevity, is still possible. That it can still well up blossoming and roaring from the cores of us.
We look into each other's eyes and speak words like stones cut to pierce so the scars will promise us remembrance long after the cum has dried, after the tear stains have been washed with the soiled sheets, after countless showers fail to abrade the imprint of one another on our skin.
It will not last.
This will not become forever, but goddamn it we'll lust as if it's never occurred to us and go down fighting to the floor each time, gasping in triumph over each other in a war that exists purely in each of our minds and bears no similaritIy to the other's struggle.
What reason could there be for such gorgeous depravity?
It's simple.
human fucking nature.
you are going to hurt me so badly and fuck I hope I break you down to your motherfucking atoms.
let's go, baby, our kingdom awaits. i'm going to snort you like last year's coke and watch myself bleed through your ravaged veins until we can't separate ourselves from one another.
(and this is no fairy tale ending.)