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“You lay so much as a fingertip on me, and you’ll be carrying two severed balls into the emergency room.” After another glance back at the water, I nod toward his groin. “Okay, shriveled balls.”
He carries on his crooked back A ragged burlap gunnysack And in his hand he wields a blade Of children’s bones, from which it’s made He hunts the night for those who’ve lied There’s nowhere you can run, or hide He’ll swipe you up right out of bed And by first light, you will be dead.
Angeltude. ‘Face of an angel with a fuckton of attitude,’
These days, I try to document as many moments as I can, because I’ve come to learn that the mind is not a reliable enough storyteller of the past. Its memories are an ever-changing landscape that moves and slides with time. Like a viscous liquid that can be poured into any shape.
It’s weird being a drifter, where everywhere and nowhere is home. For a short time, I might’ve felt a small sense of belonging in that cramped cabin in the woods, but I’ve found over the years that home is a fleeting thing. As temporary as the people who come and go in our lives.
It looks like a war between good and evil inside this house.
Whatever life still pumps through its arteries is faint and hardly palpable anymore.
Unrequited love tends to be a wound that festers into a raging sepsis, if not treated right away.
“A little bad can be good for the soul.”
Everyone has a weakness, and mine has always been orange flavored gummy bears. And men who excel in ghosting.
I wish I could say that this little reality check was a complete turn off to me, but hello catnip, meet kitten.
My question is met by an expression that I’m certain would render me dead on contact, if she were capable of shooting bullets out of her eyeballs.
“Because it’s like any destructive force of nature. Too much creates imbalance. And a love that strong would consume a person. Put everyone around them at risk. Love kills.”
She’s crazy, that’s what. My personal shot of chaos. A drug I want to inject whenever the fuck I’m feeling too calm and settled and my blood needs a spike of absolute bedlam and turmoil. A rush of adrenaline and lust that has my heart pumping overtime, just to keep up with a sudden urge to jump off a cliff while holding hands with her.
“You’re free to wear whatever you like, catin. Just as I’m free to kill anyone who looks at you in it.”
“Je suis fou de toi.” “What does that mean?” “I’m crazy about you.”
La lune. Les étoiles. Ma Céleste. The moon. The stars. My Céleste. It’s here, in this moment, that a ludicrous thought enters my mind, and I realize what lengths I would go to, to keep her. I would take on the most dangerous cartel in Mexico for this woman.
We’ve all got a bit of the devil inside of us. Don’t we?”
