#kougami .

[smfdgksnmdfgfd]

makishima: h kougmami, immediately pullin out a knife: those are bold words from someone in stabbing range

[maenead]

he tastes verid  ,   like cigarette smoke and sadness he is a walking tragedy  ,   his lungs acrid  ,   decaying  &  rotting from this thing he calls love . a hangman’s noose settled at his shoulders the executioner sings a dying tune and that boy  ,   he smiles  ,   full of cruel delight for the morbidity of life .

he’ll drown himself in whiskey  ,   fold his tragedies into a drug and he’ll down it with the release of inhibitions    (  anything  ,   he croons like mourning doves  ,    anything but the nightmares  ) he hurts in ways your fingertips cannot comprehend there is an ache in the very core of his soul if you reach in  ,   split flesh like supple peach skin  ,   twist your fingers you can pull out his heart  ,   and he will smile in the bloodied and dying light .

he tastes verid  ,   and his kisses are a tragic melody upon your skin you’ll pray for his salvation  ,   bow your head at the pulpit but all that’s left of him when you come home will be the memories of what could have been .

—–   r . k .    //      i think of you every night ,  know i wait for you still