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never, ever, ever forget that it’s always been about love. don’t make this a war, sweet heart, i don’t want to fight. i only want to understand.




it’s not a game, it’s a stage, it’s a work of art. sit down and watch the motions and try to keep up. all the truth in the world is written between the lines— the only thing is that you must look.

here is the key, but can you find the lock? between fact and fiction intertwined, this is for you to untangle.

go on. tell me what you think. i want to see the things that get lost in translation. i dare you to understand.




make no mistake, all i am is a wanderer. i have no intention to stay, unless you give me a good reason to. but that’s okay— enjoy it while it lasts. i’m not so distant that you won’t feel the glimmer, the spark, even if it lasts only a moment.

consider these few precious memories a parting gift from a boy who carries nothing else. it’s all in the name of love, dear.

it has always been about love.




noise everywhere. the crash of rushing tides—(IT’S MOONVIOLENCE, DEAR)—i can hear the wolves howling! (hush now, they’ll hear you)—

see their jagged maws and gaping hunger
closer,
closer,

curiosity—

(snap.)


.

it’s too late.
teethsnarling bonebiting fleshrendering dancing dancing dancing—in the circle you go! we will tear you to pieces (and offer you to the night)

and she will (make you anew)
just like us (just like us)

but we knew all along
(that this is what you wanted.)


you wanted to be a moonchild too
(didn’t you?)




a red letter death for you, love. we’ll burn your name under the crimson moon, the way you always dreamt of.

the dreams of heretics always end in flames.
a beautiful waking at the break of dawn.




an angel clips its wings in a frantic effort to destroy its own divinity.

the scissors aren’t enough. take the knife from the kitchen and feel the seams and the bones tear beneath the edge.

it hurts. of course it does
it bleeds and it stings as you cleave feather from flesh.

but what can you do?

—what does an angel do when it wishes to be unmade?




i can’t hold you, i’m sorry. i am so small and the world is so large, and i must run to chase every last wonderful thing in it.




i know it’s scary, but don’t be afraid. love is supposed to be overwhelming. let it swallow you up. trust that it will surround you. let it in.




i am nothing if not everything
and nothing begets everything



in the beginning was the Word




violence was already a part of my history. it’s nothing new. it’s in my dna.




this is the story of a boy born at the end of the world.




if you hurt me right, i can consider it a form of worship. be glad i choose to bleed for you.




if you hurt me right, i can consider it a form of worship. be glad i choose to bleed for you.




i want to be the little catamite that leads you astray with every passing glance


when you meet me in the depths of hell, i can finally tell you: the devil sent me




an ancient evil was born inside you. festering hungry craving thing. why do you ignore it?




knives are for cutting away the skin and flesh that hides what i really want. don’t make me say it. you know what it is.




would you listen to a lost boy’s little song?