Riot Act (Crooked Sinners)

by Callie Hart

I’ve been bleeding out, one way or another, my entire fucking life. What’s another cut? What’s another drop?

I see something come to life. Something new, and fierce, and feral.

I was jealous of him purely because he wasn’t me.

This is the way of it, isn’t it? We are observers. We look out at the world and we feel. We want what we don’t have.

to be anyone else for that matter, even for a few short seconds, seems like it would be such a release. Because, for those brief and fleeting moments, I wouldn’t have to be me.

If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. Nietzsche said that.

“I know how you feel, though. I always felt the same way. Surrounded by people. Engaged. Laughing. Connected.” She pauses. “But always set apart. Always different. Always on the outside.”

And me… I don’t even know what’s happened to me anymore.

The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.

“The path of least resistance doesn’t always mean taking the easiest option. Sometimes it means your soul finding its way home, toward something it loves, after you’ve held it back for too fucking long.”

The inferno will burn us alive, and I don’t do a thing to stop it. Let it have me. Let it take me now, on my terms, and I’ll embrace the pain of this blissful death with a glad heart. I feel everything all at once, and the symphony of emotion and sensation wrecks me.