#switcblade

those were once her words,  words of a lovestruck devotee.  there were times when she thought about it,  the love she gave him.  debating if it was real or not,  the truth or merely a tale.  she’s been hurt,  in her hands,  pieces of her broken heart.  and yet,  she continues to love him and him alone.  she’s almost pitiful,  but she knows,  it made her weak. he was her weakness,  but she was never someone’s.  it’s alright,  she says,  love isn’t always meant to be reciprocated.  but her tears continue to fall,  her heart continues to shatter,  her lies continue to multiply. was it all worth it?  was he worth it?

yes.always.

the truth has always been hard to accept,  but the truth is here now.  the heart that can never she keep,  he holds in his hands.  was everything they once were was a mere pipe dream?  an illusion from their adolescence?  aberrations of a broken childhood? — but who was she to be in question?  she walked away, who would welcome her back?

(it should be him, no matter what.)that was the promise, wasn’t it?

❛   perhaps.   ❜   he was.   ❛   he’s the brightest light that i’ve ever seen then i realize i’m blinding, burning even.  but he’s worth it, isn’t he?   ❜   yes.  always.   —   ❛   in the ocean, he’ll save himself.   ❜   a pause, a look, a realization.

❛   but he’ll save you too, no matter what. i believe —   ❜   another pause, another truth.   ❛  that’s how he loves, but i am not sure.   ❜

she was once sure of something,i hate you. liar, traitor. i won’t ever forgive you.

girl   bruises   her   knuckles   at   the    jagged    hooks    of    her    mouth ,    laughing,    a    drowning ,    a    drenching ,    a    wildfire   beyond    control    stumbling    up    her    throat    in    brawling    serration    !    smiles    all    lipsticked    cruor    &    gore .    picks    herself    off    the    dirt    in    slow    motion .    easy ,    laughing .    two    fingers    steepled    to    her    nose    –    probably    broken    in    two    places    !    maybe    three    !    and    definitely    bleeding    !    blood    stained    phalanges    drift    languid    over    the    curve    of    her    chin    ;    with    thumb    pressed    to    the    point    of    her    teeth .   ❛   you   will   not   the   divine   from   me.   i   am   my   own   god   and   martyr.    ❜    she    grins    like    knife’s    -    edge ,    like    blade    -    point ,    scabbard    forsaken    for    dreary    idiosyncrasy    /    insipidly    honeyed .    time    marches    on    and    beast  -  like   hunger   soon    slithers    from    parted    lips.

TO LOOK AT HIM IS TO REOPEN A WOUND THAT HAS NEVER QUITE HEALED  .   to see him again  ,  dead eyed  ,  death spat  ,  ruin coiled with all the fondness of a lover at every sharp edge of him  .  oh  !  how marya slices herself at every chance she gets until she is full of microscopic wounds that amount to some grand ache  ,  her breath shutters  ,  vulnerable  ,  wet with every word left buried  &  unspoken  ,  but never forgotten  .  the affectionate name for him hangs perilously at the edge of her mouth  ,  she makes no conscious decision to use it  ,  yet it comes without effort  .   ‘   what do you want  .  .  . dyoma  .   ‘

But today was not going to be the case. He was to be paired up with some scrawny new recruit, not a challenge for someone with years of experience under his belt by now. He recognized his partner to be someone who he’d heard was starting to mouth off to superior officers, and the thought crept into his mind that he must have been put with Weston as a sort of punishment. It wasn’t training, so much as an opportunity to take a loud, arrogant recruit down a few pegs. And easy enough day, but not nearly as entertaining as it would have been with Damian.

When they finally got a moment of downtime, a break for lunch or to patch themselves up, Weston didn’t give the shaking, wheezing, battered mess he’d turned his partner into a second thought, as he simply nudged past him, trying to locate Damian and check in with him. He caught sight of him easily enough, his distinctive, icy stare and the wisp of blond hair as recognizable to Weston as his own reflection. As he got closer, and put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, a smile of greeting quickly faded to one of alarm, and even anger. Damian’s face was coated in blood, some dripping, some crusted over and dried, and he was looking a bit swollen from the force of the beating he’d received.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He had to fight against every instinct to grab Damian up in his arms to examine him further. It was increasingly difficult, being unable to share physical contact so freely, unable to show compassion for someone he loved so fiercely. Instead he kept a suitable distance, but still made a point to thumb at Damian’s quickly blossoming bruises, the bloodied pulp his split lips had become. “Were you really off your game today? This isn’t like you, to get your ass kicked so much - Okay, get your ass kicked so much by someone other than me.” Despite the humor in his comment, there came a fresh, hot wash of rage on the heels of that joke, and he had to act quickly to swallow down the emotion, suppress before it overtook him and caused him to really fly off the handle. “Spill it - who do I have to teach a lesson with a knife later tonight?”

❝  𝐈  𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒  𝐓𝐑𝐘  𝐓𝐎  𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄  𝐍𝐄𝐖  in  every  place  i  go  .  ❞  a  very  innocent  explanation  to  his  affable  state  ,  the  question  beforehand  something  about  why  on  earth  he’d  start  chatting  up  someone  randomly  while  waiting  for  the  bus  in  moscow  .  he’s  a  talker  .  he’s  not  about  to  go  quietly  into  the  night  when  the  other  man  standing  nearby  seems  an  interesting  sort  .  he’s  got  two  days  here  in  russia  until  he’s  needed  elsewhere  ;  he’s  only  ever  been  there  a  few  times  so  the  pit  stop  felt  justified  at  the  time  .  now  it’s  just  .  𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘  𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃  .  shawky  bundles  a  little  tighter  in  his  coat  .  ❝  you  said  your  name  was  𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐢  ?  ❞  a  tilt  to  his  head  ,  dark  head  of  hair  falling  a  little  with  the  minute  movement  .  ❝  did  i  tell  you  to  call  me  shawky  ?  𝐈  𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘  𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓  .  oops  .  ❞  a  wide  grin  ,  then  .  ❝                   are  you  from  here  ,  originally  ?  ❞

12 : 00  MN   —   the clock strikes,  you run.  they found you,  the darkness,  they haunt you.  you’re running with your eyes closed,  scared,  helpless   —   pitiful.  safety has always been an illusion.  they deem you as a god,  but you never were and never will be.  you are a mortal,  a vulnerable being,  vain for survival.

12 : 13  AM,  tick - tock,  tick - tock,   —   in sync with the beat of your heart.  there are tears in her eyes and she lets them fall.  the concrete is cold against her bare feet like the winds of the east.  her destination ?  unknown.  just a place far away,  away from this horror.

consumed by her thoughts,  this fear made her deaf,  blind even.  in sorrow,  her tears seem to be the token of defeat.  they’re winning,  i’m losing   —   this cannot be.

in darkness,  she only thinks of herself,  until   —

❛  ow .   ❜

her back hits the ground caused by a person ?  a post ?  a wall ?  she doesn’t know for she cannot see.  this darkness,  it’s consuming.  she fumbles,  her despair   —  it reeks,  she reaches out to the night.

❛   you don’t know me .   ❜   —   no one does.  i do not know myself completely either.  but there are a few things that i know,  for one,  i am smarter than every person i meet  —  and that includes you.  

a game was once played,  between the sphinx and her.  the ancient wisdom against the avant-garde prodigy,  guess who won ?  she’s naive, but never the unintelligent.  ask a question and she’ll deliver an answer,  she  always  does.

i should always be correct.  there’s no room for wrong answers.—   show mother you’re her best.  perhaps she’ll love you for it.

it’s always noisy in your head, right ?  they’re too much.  the voices that give you the antiphon,  you want them to stop.  but ask yourself   —   who are you without the answers ?  

stand proud,  a stance full of pride.   ❛   i always find an answer .   ❜