He’s coming for you.
Death is meant to come on a chariot of broken dreams or at the hours of darkness trenches of a storm, not in love letters and gifts.
He did not take my soul when I used to be meant to die. He did not want it all of the other times that I’ve offered it to him on a silver platter. Yet, time and time again, he strikes a chord in my memory that I’m his: His night monster, his dark love, his perfect other.
Death used to be the one thing keeping me alive. He watches me from his corner, taunts me with sweet messages, marks my body with his touch as I sleep.
He took the people that I love away from me. Still, no person believed me when I said that I saw the faceless man at the night of the coincidence.
No one can escape death.
Me? I’m chasing it.
There are no reviews yet.