'that scar i gave you, how does it feel?' 'like love.' 'i thought we hated each other?' 'that too.'

Freedom, like wildberries, stained the sink after each bite. Sweet or poison held in the flip of a coin. No matter what side it landed on, a devouring feast.

Doesn't matter; it's too late.

the devil designed me; his demons want to fuck me

he's out there looking for lambs.

. . . 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝.

I’ve always preferred Cain. / His angry / loneliness, his / lack of mother’s / love, his Christian / sarcasm: "Am I / my brother’s keeper?" / asks his brother’s murderer. / Aren’t we indeed / the keepers of our dead?

open.spotify.com/track/7GkgOD5K…

Dark Prince by Betty Jiang

let me say it plain: i loved someone and i failed at it. let me say it another way: i like to call myself wound but i will answer to knife.

"You have such shifty eyes" Thank you. Would you perhaps be open to discussing what remains of my moral backbone?

open.spotify.com/track/1yqRN6nW…

people like us, we're good at lying. we lie to each other, to ourselves. we're adept in the art of self—delusion.

open.spotify.com/track/6UO72VSX…

obsidian wings scythe through midnight sky, the howling becomes a little louder