a dance with the devil — @acxnox //
the darkness—sits. heavily, unevenly, it rests. a hitch in his breathing, a stir in his consciousness—it pools, mercilessly, into the folds of poetic tragedy, of euphoric ruin. bruised, hades clings to the thin veil of calmness persephone drapes before his blackened eyes—entranced, persephone peppers pomegranate kisses into a sea of marooned dreams.
as if to say: i will heal your burning knees.
because here, death finds solace in a heart not of his own—but in one, silk-veined and tender—in one, anchoring him to the yearning sea. because here, star-woven hands scour the breadth of reddened skies, silencing cosmic despair before the moon’s blind eyes.
as if to say: i will be your guiding light.
but something, pulsates—echoing within the chasms of his collapsing mind, as the illusion of stillness opens into a mouth choked by ash. eyes, eyes—red and famished—carve themselves into his abysmal awakening, an inferno erupting between the cracks of his feigned darkness until something shifts, until something finds itself screaming into
the darkness—sits, awake.
a chest, rises and falls, on the backs of hindered breaths. he stares at the ceiling, silent—frustration sleeps heavy in his bones tonight.
moments of hushed uncertainty sink into the congested air, eclipsing hesitant lips with caution’s tongue. sigh escaping, his back erects a barrier lost between them, as he turns to face the wall, deterred. “does it hurt?” he asks, eventually, voice dipping into the deep velvet pools of his chest, “inside…—there. i…—it must be tiring.”
his voice is heavy, dragged across the room with scar tissue left on its trail. it burns, scorching, searing. against the darkest corners enclosed by these four walls, he’s a man mimicking the structure of terror, its threads straining to pull himself together to no avail; he’s still a construct made out of manmade nightmares, inflicted trauma becoming the foundation to his existence, and much to her dismay, she can do close to nothing about it.
it’s become something more physical than what she can reach internally, the architecture of his fears stitched out of cruel blueprints, layers and layers of them. each veneer leads to another veneer, leaving her perplexed, lost. against chanyeol’s soft-stained thoughts, her metaphorical hands seem to fall through. it almost feels like having a conversation with a ghost.
tugged back into the reality, however, she finds someone who’s no longer a front. he turns his back on her, as though to maintain the distance between them. she doesn’t say anything about it, but a smile is stretched across her face. he cannot see it, but she hopes he can feel it. “it’s okay,” she whispers as to not wake his roommate up. “i slept alongside you.” a waft of silence. “how are you feeling?”