Jason slips into Stigmata looking...well, obviously he fell down stairs made of doorknobs. All that's visible is the pair of black eyea, further bruising on the right side of his face, and a split lip - the swelling makes it look worse than it is, or so he'll probably end up telling people. He has his hands tucked into his pockets and his shoulders ( Read more... )

I'm eighteen today.

Happy Easter, everybody.

( the press gives us cause to celebrate the air raid sirens flood barbed wire skylines with artificial night, as we sleep to burn the red from our bloodless eyes. tonight we're all time bombs on fault lines. have we lost everything now? walking like each other's ghosts around these silent streets, the sedatives tell you everything is alright like calendars dying at new year's eve parties as we kiss hard on the lips and swear this year, this year will be better then the last. )