#androtten

𝚅𝙸𝚃𝚄𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙳𝙾𝚇.      her tongue is similar to the way a cobra slithers,   spewing  venom  with every bite taken.       she gorges herself,   filling her stomach until it swells,   molding its contents into a cradle of bones   &   broken hearts.       there’s a graveyard in front of her teeth,   every tombstone a  victim  of her path.      (he is no exception.      he will become one within  due  time.)      when his words fill her ears,   an orchestra of minacious laughter spill from her lips.      her foot tucks itself into the sand they’re currently trekking in,   body halting itself directly in front of him.     a brow is arched,   head leveling with his as she gazes at him;   a hunter surveying its prey,   looking for the best place to sink her teeth   &   yank until he comes crumbling down into her arms.       there’s a fire inside her belly,   a lion yawning   &   stretching,   awaiting for the proper moment to strike.        𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝚁𝙾𝙰𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝙸𝚂  𝙽𝙾𝚆.

you halt yourself from walking any further,   beads of sweat dripping from the tip of your nose onto the parched ground of the mojave.    sand had seeped its way inside your boots,   particles blustering into the air as you twist around on the balls of your feet,   stomping your way over to him.    no time is wasted as your index finger is used to jab itself into his chest,   sonorous voice echoing throughout the mountains surrounding you.    ❝    news flash,   pretty  boy.    you ain’t any different.    yer a pain my ass,   ya’ annoy me every  fuckin’  day,   &   you never do shit to help.    just yer fuckin’ little yappin’ mouth with bullshit that i’ve heard for years.    ❞    ire spreads across your face,   no attempt made to hide the vexation flowing through your veins.    crimson swipes itself across your cheeks,   warmth brewing to the surface of your flesh.    rage has always lived inside of you,   burrowing itself into your nerves   &   clawing to be unleashed from its cage.    you’d never done good at containing it   ;   synonymous to a parasite,   it always craved a host   &   you were  never  a good enough host to keep it maintained.

the house is quiet,   the pattering of footsteps filling the gauche quietude.    if these walls could talk,   you wonder how many  secrets  they would spill.    all the sins you’ve committed   &   left buried in seattle,   all of the ghosts trailing behind you.    a graveyard has claimed residence in your body,   the body count rising   &   filling with every passing day.    to quiet the screams   &   ichor-filled memories,   you tell yourself it was necessary.   [i’m not a murderer,   i did what i  had  to do   ;   there was no other choice.]    you’ve always been told if you speak lies long enough,   they eventually become the truth for you.    you still await for that day   &   pray it comes sooner than later.    

joel’s face says it all,   the mortification in his eyes as he looks at you,   exasperation spread across matured   &   tarnished features.    you’re no longer the same girl you were as you waltzed out of the gates of jackson.    wheat-fields   &   sunshine never resided in your ribcage,   but rafflesias did.    rafflesias would bloom   &   claim their land,   only now they’re in the midst of decaying,   the gardens becoming full of decomposing corpses   &   the metallic scent of blood fills the air.    ensconcing yourself on the couch,   you swallow your hollowing agony   &   blossom the petals of your pride.    ❝    it was either  me  or  her.    i won’t apologize for what i did.    ❞    liar,   liar,   liar.