[do not steal and take credit as your own. feel free to reblog/like/talk about this, but don’t take credit for this. don’t repost.]
fuck it the front man inspires so many feelings within me. let's write about it.
wordcount: 170 words
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shadows pool around him
and he slips into darkness
he weeps into blood-stained hands
hands that are never clean
no matter how much he scrubs
(he’s scared to think that he likes the way the blood dries on his hands)
(pretty, like marble)
(he’s scared to think that he’s corrupted beyond repair)
the shadows drag him down,
down,
d
o
w
n
he rips his heart from his chest
a show of aching devotion
(for whom?)
it’s black in his hand
crumbling at the edges
black rot drips
covered in sickly-sweet blood
whose blood?
he supposes that it does not matter
he shoves it back into his chest
he does not wince at the pain
to show pain is to show emotion
and to show emotion is to be weak
his brother was the last one to see him whole.
it wasn’t supposed to end like this
what makes a brother?
how can he be whole again?
he sleeps, and succumbs to the shadows.
they were always kind to him.