me & my guilt.

ᅠ ᅠ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

i am your rosary, your cross, your blessings, your penance.

you were the blood in all my poems.

christian watches in weighted silence, his shadow cast long in the low light. his gaze lingers on the bruise— not with concern, but recognition. he’s seen too many like it, worn too many himself. “need some salve? ease the pain, nothing for the colour.”

christian lifts his hand instinctively to his forehead, fingertips coming away tacky with half-dried blood. his jaw tightens, but his expression remains steady — as if pain is just a mild inconvenience. “i’m aware.”

⠀ ⠀ 𝗂’𝗆 𝖺𝗌 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗏𝖾 ⠀ 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 * 𝖜𝖗𖦹𝖓𝖌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆͟𝖾. 𝗂 ⠀ 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚. 𝗂 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 ⠀ 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇 ﹠ 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡𝘩. ⠀

/ what if Christian was to start coming to the cities and buying companies 🤔 monopolising properties, almost a slight mafia vibe but just son of Lucifer

⠀ christian sits alone in the greenhouse, trimming the stem of a rose with a folding knife that glints in the humid sunlight. he doesn’t look up when he hears footsteps behind him. ⠀