Vintage Vegan

Vegan, fashion, tattoos, cats.
IG: brianarejtig

This is the worst of all the pains. God fucking damnit I didn’t deserve this. My sheets are filthy but I can’t bring myself to change them because I can still see you here in them.

Finding out about the terrible things you’re trying to do since you took a shit on my heart. I’m using the word trying instead of doing because you don’t seem to be capable of following through with anything.
Example: me.
Case.
And point.

You can kiss somebody else’s spouse and get away with it. You can kiss a member of the same sex with near impunity. You can give an incestuous kiss on the sly. You can tongue-kiss a dog or exchange raptures with lab rats. But you can’t kiss Death without Death kissing you back. Death is a passionate kisser. I bite your lips, chew your tongue, leave a little taste of blood in your mouth as a portent of things to come. If I were to kiss you between the legs, you’d see a little blood there too and think your period had come early, but it wouldn’t be your menses, lover. It would be your ruination, a Death’s head with your clitoris in its mouth. Death is mad about you. Death loves you, do you love me too? I’m not needy, but I enjoy intimacy, especially with you, darling. Go ahead, slip your face into mine, I like to feel your warm lips in my inert visage. I like to feel your eyelashes tickling my empty, old sockets. One day I’ll slip my face into yours too, and then we’ll experience another sort of intimacy. I’ll be inside you like a lover. I’ll kiss you from the inside and it will feel like catching a chill. You’ll get goosebumps up your thighs and shivers down your spine. I’ll whisk you to my wormy bed and we’ll lie there nestled in eachother’s arms, or at least as long as you have arms…and even then, when you’re hideous dust, I’ll remain true. I am Death, and when I love you it’s forever. And why shouldn’t you love me back? I know that sometimes you fantasize about me, lie in bed at night, wondering how and when I will come and what I’ll look like when I do. Am I a knight in shining armour? Fiery dog of Hell? Do I look like a vampire? Skeleton, ghost? Do you imagine me taking you into my arms, embracing you, comforting you? “There, there”, I say kissing your tears away, “I’ll make those awful things go away. Life won’t be a burden to you anymore, I promise”. Pull back the curtain to reveal a wonderful new world, a party, a riot, a ball. It’s the costume affair, Mardi Gras, Halloween Festival, Day of the Dead, and it’s enormous fun to prance around in the arm of inevitable doom. Life is short, seize the day, go ahead darling, slip me on, pretend you’re me, see the world through my sockets, laugh, live, love while you can, eat drink and be merry. What do you think I do? I’m Death, and I laugh and make merry too, dance with skeletons and make goblets out of skulls.

—Supervert’s “Necrophilia Variations”  (via demons-et-merveilles)