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(but still cw: thoughts about death)

I hope I die in the dark,

but I don't want to be alone,

we will say "til death do us part",

yet I want to unite us in stone.

I hope I die in a fire,

calmly embraced in your arms,

I'll whisper to you, like a liar,

that we'll be shielded from harm.

I hope you won't visit my grave,

I hope you will not stand,

and all your actions so brave,

with me your life did end.

I hope I die together with you,

my words they must have shown

it's brutal but I know it's true,

I can't stand being alone.

Maybe I don't wish to die,

what if I just knew,

a final breath in company

(I'll give you a little kith on the mouth if you read the whole thing and also one on your forehead if you reblog it xx)

desire.

a violin without a bow is not useless.

you can pluck a chord or just a string,

accentuate the end or how it begins,

decorate a song, it's all the same,

a beating heart, unnaturally tame.

but throwing the bow away is ruthless.

you'd damn the string to eternal silence,

a treatment utterly filled with violence,

and so uncalled for, undeserved,

you lost the bow, searched, lost the nerve.

the bow expands a violins trueness.

the feeling now, it will not leave,

but in the light, beyond the grief,

is what a heart desires most,

the undead beating's silent host,

and if its fortune just so wills

its endless thirst this time it stills

since what a heart desires most

shall not be locked 'hindst doors long closed.

what once lost is not forgotten,

future may be built anew.

say, do we really strike a chord?

meant to be, a tonal fort?

or are we like a cut string, flawed,

never meant to stay?

time breaks all songs, each echo fades,

as narrow halls dim warmer shades,

are we the hall where bows don't break,

let me float your way, please don’t ignore me

[close-ups below!]

Just fucking ignore it and understand that it's going to be recationary on purpose. It's going to be full of bait. Warner Bros is counting on there being a ton of controversy to boost the numbers because there's no such thing as bad publicity.

everything in your house. is alive.

every appliance, every piece of furniture. the air you breathe, the water you flush down the toilet. the goddamn toilet itself.

they've been alive, the whole time. watching, listening, judging. there is nothing they do not know. they've seen and heard everything you thought was private.

think of all those moments you have when you're alone in your home. the things you would never let anyone else see. every gross, embarrassing, intimate, heartbroken, and painful moment. even your nightmares were laughing at you.

and you were never actually alone. for any of it.

those nights you cried yourself to sleep? your bed could feel your tears soaking into her.

that time you got so sick you spent the whole day on the bathroom floor? the floor could feel herself grow slippery with your sweat.

and it's not their fault, of course it isn't. i'm sure Betty would have held you if she could, stroking your back until you fell asleep. i'm sure florence would have gotten you a cool rag and a glass of water if she'd been able.

it's as much torture for them as it is for you.

maybe when you're mad your slam your doors. or maybe you throw your dirty clothes into a corner and wait too long to wash them again. maybe you once plugged in one too many things and blew a fuse.

and none of them, not dorian or dirk or eddie or volt were able to tell you that you were hurting them. they could only suffer and endure.

and that's not your fault. if you'd known they could feel, you'd have been much more careful. but you still hurt them all the same.

Its alive…ITS ALIVE !

Danger walks nearby

Woof x)