#torahread

              your mirror looks stone cold ,         stoic & dry seemed to be his NATURAL STATE !. he carries himself your slouched shoulders almost seem to mock his stiff form. upon seeing him , an object appears from almost thin air from your back.    ❛     hey stanley , i found this.   ❜     it's stan's kippa , dirty almost long since forgotten in THE DYING GRASS in front of the school. don't ask jon how he got it !    ❛     hockstetter is shit ,   ❜     tone is blunt , too casual to have been such a sentence yet jon’s lips twitch upwards. a silent thought itching the back of your head : there was something     terribly wrong   with that patrick boy , something sinful / putrid.       ❛     but tell anyone i actually care about you , i’ll skin you.   ❜     though of course you care ! care so much it even burns. something in your chest , that something beating , feels a tenderness for your only brother , in the   most obscure way possible. 

-` ─ !   (            ❛❛  MY  LIFE  HAD  STOOD  A   LOADED  GUN,  ❜❜           tender    touch    flicks    delicately    through    pages    until    declared    poem    is    found.    over    book’s    binding,    bright    eyes    flash    confidently    to    stan.    docile    sun    felt    akin    to    a    halo    against    the    dark    crown    of    her    head,    warming    against    gentle    breeze    &    consequently    making    her    mood    that    much    more    pleasant.        ❛❛  if    you    get    the    rest    of    the    verse,    i’ll    buy    you    a    slushie.  ❜❜

YOUR SPIRIT TELLS ME OF A STORY           /             tedious craftsmanship;  delicate brushes ‘gainst bruising skin, a boy cries out.          ❝          s  ..  suh  ..  stop moving, richie.            ❞          mutters through chapped and scarred lips.   crimson streaks glisten  (  masking  )  scathed skin.   another failed attempt scaling their makeshift daredevil’s ramp.   despite uris’ urging words,  the bullheaded boys pursued on until bloodshed.   now,  they stand,  mangled bicycle’s wheel gently revolving within the wind.   horn rimmed glasses abandoned besides their disaster.   stan’s literature softly flickering ‘tween breeze tickle.

OF MUCH HARDER DAYS           /           have you ever even done this before.   unfortunately,  the eldest denbrough’s perception of familiar timbre brandishes agitated.   lulling conversation,  lithe fingertips dabbing borrowed scarlet stained handkerchief’s fabric to peroxide lip bottle.           ❝          yeah.          ❞          breathlessly whispers as pressure is applied to wound causing another holler out.   concentration and focus quickly consume him as explanation is offered.            ❝             once,  g  ..  guh   ..  georgie fell off the swing at bassey park.            ❞            working swift,  obvious whimpers and whines go ignored.                ❝               almost split his head wide open.              ❞             often,  speech impediment hinders himself from full sentences or phrases.   stumbling over various vocabulary because his mind functions continually ahead.   but,  feelings of safety and security;  provide william with peace of mind. 

JUST TRUST ME           /            finally,  the bloodied rag ties tightly ‘gainst battered flesh.            ❝            even then,  georgie didn’t sound like such a b  ..  buh  ..  baby.            ❞