Ghosts of you...
I just had my reserve weekend. If you're American, I would like to apologize for wasting your tax dollars.
While dying of boredom, I pulled out my notebook and skimmed through it. It's a small notebook, designed to take places my usual, large notebooks can't go. It's often used in situations where I can't write a lot, so I hurriedly sketch something with the hope that I can bounce off it later. This leads to strange, rambling, usually incoherent bs.
Like this:
During songs of praise, an orange and red flag waved.
Ling/Ed: Sharp teeth dug into his neck. It hurt.
He came back wrong.
Worship me worship me worship me...
We worship you we worship you we worship you.
Songs of love and praise and devotion and an older woman stood int he front, smiling and waving a tattered orange, red, and yellow flag. It was like hellfire rippling above their heads.
The power of silence and what fills it.
"Do you love me?"
Whispered in his ear, hot and wet. Burning fingers trailed over bared ribs, fire licking bone and glistening meat.
Sobs, whispers, always too close. "Fuck you."
A kiss pressed tenderly over his ear. A hot tongue licked away the blood trickling there.
"Do you love me?"
A spray of blood in place of spit. No spit left. Only blood. Blood and fire everywhere. "Fuck you."
Only a gurgle but still audible.
Another kiss, more painful than a strike. "Do you love me?"
The rest tend to be longer but about as coherent. *shrugs*
While dying of boredom, I pulled out my notebook and skimmed through it. It's a small notebook, designed to take places my usual, large notebooks can't go. It's often used in situations where I can't write a lot, so I hurriedly sketch something with the hope that I can bounce off it later. This leads to strange, rambling, usually incoherent bs.
Like this:
During songs of praise, an orange and red flag waved.
Ling/Ed: Sharp teeth dug into his neck. It hurt.
He came back wrong.
Worship me worship me worship me...
We worship you we worship you we worship you.
Songs of love and praise and devotion and an older woman stood int he front, smiling and waving a tattered orange, red, and yellow flag. It was like hellfire rippling above their heads.
The power of silence and what fills it.
"Do you love me?"
Whispered in his ear, hot and wet. Burning fingers trailed over bared ribs, fire licking bone and glistening meat.
Sobs, whispers, always too close. "Fuck you."
A kiss pressed tenderly over his ear. A hot tongue licked away the blood trickling there.
"Do you love me?"
A spray of blood in place of spit. No spit left. Only blood. Blood and fire everywhere. "Fuck you."
Only a gurgle but still audible.
Another kiss, more painful than a strike. "Do you love me?"
The rest tend to be longer but about as coherent. *shrugs*