#1553

Or maybe you’re Pompeii, a dead city trapped in time that will only ever be known for the one horrible tragedy that snuffed it out, leaving behind the shells of human beings preserved in their final death throes. Maybe you’re nothing but a ghost town, a reminder of what once was, what has been lost, what can never last. Maybe you’re a reminder that disaster can turn even the rich and beautiful into a wasteland of hardened ash, into hollow cavities where flesh and bone once huddled in fear. People are drawn to your beauty but it’s the beauty born of haunted places, death on display to entertain the living, and they can’t really imagine you ever actually breathed or moved or loved. All they see is what the devastation left behind.

#1552

Sometimes I can’t get your scowl off my lips; they curl back over my teeth of their own accord, a grimace of pain, a snarl of back-the-fuck-off, and I can’t tell if I’ll lash out or tear at my own flesh; I just want to be closer to becoming you, this beautiful wreckage of a man, this strange angel who leaves ashes in place of fingerprints; I would burn offerings in my throat for you and ink them into my skin with needle and knife, I would worship you in metal and blood and bruises if you would but bless this pathetic mortal body as your temple.

#1550

this is a forbidden love
a sinister love
a cold, cruel, beautiful love
a love that worships with knives
a love that demands sacrifice
a love that covets
a love that crafts
a love that hunts
a love that hurts
an unwilling love
an unwanted love
an unthinkable love
a love that forgives
and twists the blade
a love that mourns
and revels in blood
a love with no name
a love with no rules
a love with no place
but the cell, the basement, the casket

(major spoilers for season 2 in the video)

#1549

In this place everything is porcelain and leather and crystal, marble and silk and mother of pearl; sweeping staircases, delicate chandeliers, vaulted ceilings. Everything is the finest, the rarest, the most expensive. Everything is beautiful. Elegant. Superior. Untouchable and untouched.

This is not a home. This is a doll house. This is make-believe. In this place every room is a ballroom and every moment a masquerade. Never let the mask slip. Never speak out of character. A doll has no wants or wishes of its own; a doll is a blank slate. Remember that and you will draw no attention.

Is it no wonder a place like this would raise a beast, not a man? That it would mold a monster who at once craves for, yet chafes against, the collar and leash? Perfection and sterility provide nothing to feed a starving soul, so the soul devours itself to survive.

I don’t belong here. I never did. But I learned to wear my mask well.

#1548

this lacy tank top and matching cardigan, this semi-punk yet office-safe hair, my inkless skin and unpierced ears, this isn’t a lifestyle, this isn’t fashion sense or preference, this is camouflage, this is me hiding in plain sight, this is a cloak of femininity, now you see me now you don’t, and only when you get too close will you learn that underneath that cloak is rage and wreckage, my beautiful beastly self, only then will you learn that I’m patterned to blend into my surroundings yet I still have claws and teeth and a predator’s mind when threatened, don’t be fooled by the pretty tiger stripes, I just wear them to hunt and hide