something like that
my writing blog. for original pieces and fanfiction.

Vent writing

Chem POV, 1st person

Sorry for any ooc-ness. I kind of got carried away.

—-

If people say I’m doing better; I’m improving; I’m a good person. If that’s what they say then they don’t fucking know. They don’t know what I do.

I don’t need the empathy nor the romanticizing of what I am. I know what I am. I am a disease. I don’t need Them to tell me that I’m sick and hopeless because I know it.

I’m full of despair that crawls with gnawing teeth into my chest. My vibrant pink hair grays at 2:30 am and when I brush my young fingers through the locks they shrivel, turning every phalange prominent as if I am made of protruding knuckles. I feel tired and as I set my hand on the tile counter it seems to sound like an echoing clap.

I’m tired and I can’t decide whether to continue to stare outside to the stars or to go out and let the cold air burn my throat as I try to experience and feel

I think but I don’t do. I dream of it and sometimes taste it when I kiss his cheek. I also sometimes feel it when he wraps his lanky arms around my waist and I want to be pulled in, swallowed whole. I want to be engulfed by his love and feel every part of him. I want him to rip me apart and tell me he loves me. He’ll consume me and drive me mad. I’ll shiver as he loves me softly, passionately, coldly. I carve his name into my tongue so I can taste and speak and breath with him. I will die only once I am a part of him. I will die with his love even when his teeth clamped around my throat.

So I don’t cling to tightly to my precious SC. I know of the poison because while he fills me with bliss, he is not the only experience I will savor. I must savor more. SC is a love, but he isn’t love. He is what makes me love but he won’t define my love. I will find my own ways to happiness and not let him as a being be my happiness.

Nothing shall define me; not my disease, not Them, not SC nor my grief. I know of my flaws and I do not deny them. I am still to be written and burned into the world.

every time i want to write im on the ipad groans

Quiet. Whispered undertones; hard to hear. You blink and your vision blurs and before you speak, loud with rolling r’s and t’s that clap behind you hushes you.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t move. Don’t think or put it out.

Quiet

Quiet

Quiet

Repeat, unstopping and unceasing with the rolling r’s tumbling down becoming a whisper whisper whisper

and you blink. Blink again. Blink again. Blink again. Blink faster. Blink until you open and open and open and open and open and open and

HE

will stand before you.

HE

will roll the r’s, fondly with rough hands that melt against your cheek. And you kiss the r’s and blame yourself for his demise.

and so you blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink. and blink.

you always want to kiss him when you hold the back of his neck. you can feel his head turn and shoulders tense as the lips meet and adjust into a fitting lock. his hair brushes over your nails when you curl your fingers into the locks. warmth invades your tongue and teeth and when you pull back the warmth mingles in the air. you clench your fingers to feel him and him in his infinity and already the infinity has passed leaving your fingers and lips and tongue and teeth craving for more.