she treks him, knowingly. like stars to their prerogative. light ceded to misery, to inherent dark, death—her. propitiation for the godhead devastation—her. that utter subsumption into void—her. all hers, unto him–hers—all nothingness—hers—made an everything to him. it excavates him; his are tombs, his makings and inner-workings, the totality of him realized here. tombs deceptively, unearthed to reveal life still unwearied and trying. life asphyxiated and upon its first glisten of worldly light spun mad, ravaging with desperate hands until they were skinless and writhing bones. serpentine coils about ungraspable opportunities. that’s what he is to her. a dead man trying. she laughs at him, knowingly, because of this and her duplicitous sincerity. duplicitous way of being, way of twice, parallels. love and hate; love and sex; love and possession. she holds him like silken tulle, draped about him like her corporeality is tailored for his encapsulation. it may as well be, the way this dying man talks to a so far dead girl, deluded with the conviction that either are flesh or in his case, here. her fingers caress him by jaw, trace to his temples, chin atop his head, her in his lap, lovely and uncaring.
❛ you barely know what to feel and you’d want to waste emotions on me ? you’re being kind again, kaneki .. i thought we talked about that .. ❜ her fingers entwine about white strands, tucks them behind an ear she nears, roseate plush a respite to his carcass, tickling lips. ❛ — your .. charity. ❜ she coos some cruel femininity, gorgeous and soft and very pernicious. her finger reunites with its sisters, full hand embracing him, thumbpad running over his cheek. her close mouth emanating low murmur like lascivious incantation, cue simper.
❛ you’re gonna make me sick. spare me your shit, okay ~ ♥ ? ❜
her ––- the boy who loves her is filthy, the boy who loves her is trying to kill her; and she deserves it, she really does. ruining everything he touches is the boy’s love –– he, so starved and undeserving, grew under a cold fist and this is the only way he knows how to kiss / kill. he, he loves like dirty sheets, bloody virginity, broken hymens. he plays inside of the girls he loves. ( he loves her, he lover her! –– saw something ugly in him, saw in her. ) her ––- her hair is soft plague, rots his skin as he holds. ( he’s already rotten. ) it twines through his fingers so intimately, and he thinks, he thinks, ‘ ah, this is another way to make love. ‘ tickles his contused knuckles, the split skin, his red. his fist is against the nape of her neck and he pulls until he feels amethyst snapping. ah. this is another way to make love. her throat is like the beach, waiting for his tide / teeth to erode her sand. she is black death –– the delicacy is deceiving. she is fleshy - white unblemished skin, snow fallen.
he is a child who knows nothing but take, take, take. take a bite. his other hand, so tenderly, thumbs at her jaw, swipes over her lips, and pushes between them. her tongue is a wet, disgusting thing. ( he wants her choking on him. ) ❝ shut up ––- just shut up. i hate when you talk.
❛ should just rip your fucking tongue out. dolls are better when they’re silent. fuck, fuck. ❞ behind the cradle of her ear, his nails dig unto her flesh, gripping, gripping, in the only love he knows how –– fury. his breath is a hot whip, trembling staccato. it’s lashes against her clavicle. his hold is a jail sentence. he bucks his hips up once, only once, before settling to let them shift uncomfortably between the tight embrace of her thighs. ❝ i hate you. ❞
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