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She owns my entire being. Flesh and bone. My black soul belongs to her. With one look, she takes me down. If she demands I kneel right here, I’ll drop to my knees, offer penance for my sins as I plead for her to devour me.
Fuck, she’s fire and life. She brings color to my world. I’ve been waiting a lifetime for her without even realizing she was the missing part of me. Flesh of my flesh.
London is the music awakening my soul. She’s the reason my heart beats. I’m alive for her—I’m free because of her, and now we’re unstoppable.
The danger lies in whether or not we’ll survive each other.
The overbearing desire to consume and consume until we’re sated…but we’ll never be sated. We’re an endless abyss, demanding replete gratification, our disease our enemy. We’re afflicted with an insatiable hunger.
Love and obsession are so closely linked, the emotions evoked by obsession easily mistaken for love. And when obsession rules our world, we become a slave to its demands.
My whole life, London has been my only surprise. I tore off the wrapping paper and dove in with only a veiled idea of the contents…and she was so much more than I expected. She’s the glossy present I never dreamed I’d receive.
The thread tethered between us is too strong to be broken by the simple threat of captivity or death. Black or not, dead or not…my heart beats because of her.
Love is pain. Real love—the one not spewed in poetry—is agony. It tears at your soul, strips you bare, drives you mad and demands the veracity of our existence. Love is madness.
She’s my home. And she’s my sickness.
I’m a devil with a heart. Pure lunacy. But then, even the devil loves passionately, ardently, coveting this world…so much so that he rebuffed heaven.
I’ve never wanted anything before her, never craved to be free until her golden-flecked eyes really saw me. And then she appears. My angel of mercy. Clearing the maddening fog.
“You’re the closest thing to freedom I’ve ever tasted.”
We’re as much of a threat to each other as we are each other’s sick salvation.
Despite my attempts to be more than—better than—mortal, I’m no god. I’m blood and bone and London is immersed in my marrow, so goddamn deep I can feel her becoming a part of me.
Good things don’t emerge from basements and cellars… Dark things do. Demons burned by the light.
The variable I’ve never been able to isolate or solve. We’re inescapable. The only prison I’ve never wanted to escape.”
When it’s time, I go. And I make sure I do enough damage on my way out that Nelson knows I’m coming for blood.
Death and freedom are sometimes described as one and the same. Death is a form of freedom—freedom from the prison of life.
Not all demons are born to the dark, and not all angels seek the light.
