vēnor
@m4rcelinev4mp
ᴅᴇʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴅɪꜱᴏʀᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴍɪɴᴅ.
bruised my knees slipping on pavement and all i could think was how pretty they looked. like i was made for it.
i want someone to put their cigarette out on me when they've finished it.
mud on the floor, blood on my split lip, boot imprint across my ribs. i'm not crying because it hurts, i'm crying because they stopped.
they take photos of you. always at your weakest. crying, bruised, bound. they say it's beautiful. it's art.
my jaw's still aching from where their boot held it still. they didn't speak. they didn't have to.
a collar in the dirt. teeth marks up my neck. i think i asked for this. i think i'm enjoying it.
i woke up chained to the radiator, but you left me water and your hoodie that smells unmistakably like you. how could this not be love?
they asked, 'do you want me to stop?' and i said no, because it hurt. because i wanted it to. maybe i enjoyed it. because the way they broke me felt more like love almost more than anything ever did.
you left the porch light on last night. either you're foolishly forgetful, or you're waiting for me.
the blinds stay open. i like the idea of someone watching. maybe you. maybe you've always been watching.
Everyone always talks about wanting to be corrupted by a priest, but have we considered corrupting the priest? +
i know the woods outside of my city like the back of my hand (flirting)
