September 21, 2000
Pairing: 4x3, 1+4
This is…strange.
For Tro-bat. Welcome back, even if it is only a temporary stay.
To some boys,
To me, love is pain.
Feeling means suffering, aching,
means the scent of decaying bodies
or the faint tang of iron
in my mouth.
You know,
he always liked to take my mouth.
Then you were there.
You spoke only when required to,
a regular automated house helpmeet.
But there is silent, and then there is silence.
I wanted a taste.
And then, instead of a sip, I got a
waterfall, gushing over my lips,
red red red, vibrant and pulsing,
flowing liquid sweet, darkening
over glacial teeth.
There are colors and there is color.
You're the thorn in my side,
My addiction, my crucifixion,
the one I could never quite shake.
So pin me down with your wing,
let your hatred and your sorrow and
your love, even, let it all come out.
I want to feel it.
I want to feel you.
There is love, and then this thing we have between us.
I don't pretend to understand,
but slowly, surely,
it is burning all the rusty stains away,
leaving us pure, leaving us white like rice paper,
white like soft sand,
white like the flecks of desert reflected in your eyes,
miniature cities vying for your attention,
mocking me at every turn.
~owari~
Bianca
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