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you’re talking to the devil but you’re whispering sweet nothings; speaking in tongues, venom & honeysuckle.

bludgeoned, and beaten; broken, and defeated. mother, do i make you proud of me?

Nobody: Ramsay and Reek greyjoy:

a god is a child sheathed in blood. a god is both knife ﹠ wound. a god is the victory ﹠ the defeat.

fine, make me your villain.

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.

glory and gore go hand in hand.

you’ll hunt me. you’ll set the dogs on me.

i used to be yours.

love is a game for fools to play.

the little soldier that fucking couldn’t.

in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

'god knows all of your ugliness,' my mother says, 'and loves you despite.' / 'is that supposed to make me feel loved?' i reply. 'i am still ugly. he is still god.'

anger tastes foreign in a mouth filled with blood, but it becomes an acquired taste soon enough.

⠀ what thing worthy of love can be found in me .ᐣ

i will rot in this room forever. i have never been beautiful.

my body's made of crushed little stars.

me and the devil, walking side—by—side.