\\ : BLOODSPORT.

The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said, and never explained.

The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said, and never explained.

they tell me ‘love your flaws’ but each time I peer  over the precipice of each sin, each ungodly cavern of immorality, vertigo seizes these bones and I fall. I drown in it. I reek of damnation, hopelessness has made a home in this heart and I have come to know hell. it is cold. it is so cold.

you were silent but lovely; radiant, like the dawn. colors were your language, so fluently worn; conveying what words never could. you were a masterpiece, the artwork of all the greatest hands. the tenth wonder of the world; sculpted in the sunlight and bathed in the stars. you were what heaven envied— what gods feared and beasts worshipped, what made kings tremble and armies flee. when wolves howled, they were calling your name. but now you are dark, empty; now you are what bleeds the world of its beauty. you are the weed in the garden, a disease in the heart and mind, festering a sickness. you are what should never be; yet what could be, what is, and what must be. you are the lie that speaks an unavoidable truth: that all things beautiful and divine are tragic.

real monsters are born of love. they crawled from the womb of something warm, something soft, something bright— with hearts vulnerable, naked, helpless and hopeful. the monster loved— that’s how it became monstrous.

Oh, that sweet, innocent boy, He deserved every star in the sky. But all he got was the remaining stardust of a life that could have been. The darkness killed the stars in his heart, and turned them into black holes in his mind. He’s been drowning in an empty universe for so long, He’s not sure what’s real anymore.

how many centuries deep is your wound?