ᴡʜᴏ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ?

dying to win & risking death to win are completely different things.

i get mean when i'm nervous, like a bad dog.

you fool. you think ideals alone can change the world?! fine! then go right ahead and shoot me! come on!

you bleed just to know you're alive.

i found redemption in the slide of your tongue, salvation in the taste of each gasped breath. damnation has never felt further away than when your body moulds into mine.

... do i really smile so rarely?

and you’re whispering, you’re begging, "save me, save me, save me,” into skin that isn’t yours — as if there had ever been enough of anything in you to save.

two bodies: one stung, the floor beneath them visible through the gaping hole in their chest; the other having chosen not to leave their lover's side. gentle floral scents are made somehow perverse by the heavy smell of blood.

in a fit of anger, i told him how i never wanted him to be my brother and he yelled that he didn't ask for it either. the air smelled like kerosene and my chest was filled with arsenic.

everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it.

the image of the dead, dead ends in my mind.