#aseaofquotes

“Sometimes words drew blood, they cut your tongue, they made you know things you couldn’t unknow.”

who hurt you, babe? he whispers as the cold metal is pressed against my chest, my heart more still than it had ever been before. who hurt you? he repeats, but my lips are dry and pressed together as if i'd never uttered a single word. he presses on, the blade now ripping the button out of my shirt, as if warning me to just give in. here we are, my body melting into his as we stand in the quiet room, and his devilish grin shouldn't be so easy to fall for. he wants me to say the words, but my mouth is clammed up and there is nothing in this world that i'd rather do less and so, i let my heart syncopate with the rhythm of the buttons being ripped out of my shirt, and then i stop. time, space, him. i hurt myself, i say, because i hoped for more than i was ever given. he looks at me as if he sees a different person. my hand takes the knife out of his grasp. he brands my lips with the stain of him, because he knows i'm empty. i'm the one holding the blade now. and the universe agrees.

The Tired Advice.

this is a story about a boy. his chest is metal and his fists are iron his will is the dynamite in the making. his stealthiness is like a wall covering him in all directions; he could move a mountain with one hand. on the inside, however, it's another story. he takes a breath and it smells like guilt he swallows a bullet and it feels like candy. he wants to be a shield that shelters everyone around him but the shield is like a muscle; you pull too hard and the pain creeps in. but he's used to the pain. the anguish is a dear, dearest companion-- he wraps his arms around it and greets it like an old friend. this is a story about a girl. her chest is a ticking bomb and her hands are bruised her body is supposed to be a temple but no one has taught her that. her will is not her own; she doesn't know it, she travels where others tell her to. her fervor is real but she still shelters herself from all directions; she could kill you with one look and you'd like it. on the inside, however, it's another story. she dreams of heaven and wakes up to hell she takes a hit and it feels like love. she wants them to look upon her as a goddess but being a goddess means control; she spirals out of it every time her emotions erupt. but she's used to the lava. the burning of her skin feels like flowers blossoming-- it's spring and if it stings then it's familiar and we're all allergic to something. it takes him one glance at her and he knows he's trapped. the stone cold shackles pull his hands behind his back when he grasps for her (and why?) he couldn't tell you. he inhales her presence like a a breeze of fresh air after a long day but the charcoal in his throat won't let him say the things he wants to say. it takes her one glance at him and she knows she's all in. the veins over her heart burst at the seams when she thinks of him (and why?) she couldn't tell you. she soaks in his presence as if he were the only light she knows but the dread in her stomach won't let her say the things she wants to say. (the bullet in his chest reminds him that it is time to die, but he can't die without whispering love in between her lips.)