I Want To Love, But My Hair Smells Of War And Running And Running.
i want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.
[ i. ii. iii. iv. ]
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Ⅹ| stop following. stop it. stop it. click clack on cracked cement in streetlights only lit every so often. it was a part of town humans of most calibers would avoid. & yet some people will go so far just to tear at the already so shredded. a whip around, baby blues flicker. “ madame, whatever your intentions are i have no care for them, if you intend to do HARM i beg you rethink such, as i’ve already had a very long night & i don’t know how much more my PATIENCE can handle ------ “ note a glint of liquid oozing from knuckles, from a pale forehead & seeping through ivory thick coat.
