thunderstorms

I will turn myself into a gun, because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.

“drink me, i’m poison,” she said with a grin.

I liked that about her. She was unpredictable. Sometimes the things she said and did were surprising. Sometimes they disturbed me. But she was exciting, and that’s what I liked most. She was so many, many things but she was never once boring.

I was born: made of gunpowder and exit wounds.

She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world.

“At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don’t believe that it’s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he’s able to do them, and that he does them well.”