#contentiousness

HOW SAD FOR YOU.

​i dont really see anything sad about that personally but sure whatever gets you through the day

GO AWAY.

ii feel 2o 2een.

✍: For what my muse has written about yours in their diary.

Date: Unknown

If you knew the enormity of what I felt for you, it would disgust you. It disgusts me too. How do I continue falling into the same patterns? First Fef, when we were younger. Now you. Why do I break at the slightest show of kindness? Despite everything, you remain good to me. But my response will always be hunger. More. I grow desperate because there isn't enough of you to fill me. I could devour you. I can be a cannibal, and I still wouldn't feel sated as your slimy flesh slides between my teeth.

There is want, and then there is desiderium. My longing is a tempest. You have only received the gale. If you were to give yourself to me completely, I don't know if I could stop myself from crushing you.

I'm well aware that I have a reputation for suffocation.

But "wouldn't it be nice?" I think. To hold you, to touch you, to familiarize myself with the tropical warmth of your skin. I never cared for social conventions, Karkat. You know me. Labels are meaningless. We, as a society, have transcended the need for labels. And yet, no matter how "developed" we claim to be, we continue to cling to them. I digress. I don't care for the confines of matespriteship as defined by the social order. I want to be the begetter of your pain and pleasure. You may think I am a monster, some kind of pusherless kraken, and perhaps you're correct. I don't know much about having a heart. I wasn't raised to acknowledge mine. But when I tell you to submit, I ask that you do so willingly. On a cosmic and imperial level, you are nothing. Yet it would mean everything if you voluntarily entrusted your life to me.

I know the future is bleak. There is no hope for us. Trust me, I would know a thing or two about hope. It's kind of my thing. All I have left are my thoughts, and they've become my refuge. You and I live, coalesce, in the pages of this journal. However, this is my final entry. I won't write about you anymore. I won't look for you.

It'd be my greatest shame if someone were to discover my writing. And yet, there is something tantalizing about being found. THE Admiral Ampora, besmitten with cullbait. No doubt, it'd be my head on the chopping block next. She'd surely make an example out of me. Regardless, I'm burning this book.

I LEGALLY HAVE TO USE YOUR TITLE WHILE WE'RE WORKING. YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, DON'T YOU?