kittehsarescary

Tuesday. With his pen twitching soporifically between his thumb and forefinger, he waits for the pain to become sugary euphoria. Once the nightmare begins, he routinely starts to draw swirls on his black and blue legs. They were supposed to be flowers. He dreams of carnations and lilies as red as the lips he longs to kiss. Inhale. Shiver. Exhale. Icy and purple like the universe, all the warmth wasted away from those chapped lips the minute She left. Rotted, all that remains of Her is the black hole stained on the bedroom floor. Faded. Decay forever stuck in his nostrils.