It’s a sweet little dilemma that he always worries himself over on. About how fate is something that no one ever understands but it is also that same thing that people use to explain every unexplicable event that happens around them. In the end, people always need some grand thing to blame when something precious slips between their fingers and crashes into disgusting little droplets of absence over the floor. And each of that, he piles onto his shoulders and drags his feet over the ground. It’s regret that paints his wounds red with the darkest hue and seeps out between his gums and teeth every time he bites back what lurches out from inside. It’s also pain that lies heavy at the pit of his stomach and threatens to rip apart the thin layer of skin that is wrapped around what has become a pile of bones. It belongs to other people. Or more accurately, once belonged.
The skin of his wrist will always be marred. His skin will always be too delicate to bear anything that it has to endure. He’s always had a simple, silver bracelet wrapped around his wrist for as long as he can remember. In the first years, there would always be a scream wreaking of fear and sorrow spilling from his lips as the metal tightened round his limb, cutting through skin. In the first years, it had always been the dead souls that trickled to his side who had been the ones to kiss his wound to let it heal. Over time he learns to shake a blood stained sleeve to cover up something others aren’t meant to see. He also learns to embrace and kiss the ones he has had to reap. He remains proud, and still screams in agony inside
au, mirrored literacy, 18+, reblog/like/follow
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