He was not strong enough to withstand my turbulence of emotions, nor my unshakable devotion to my destructive tendencies. He wasn't fitted for the role he so desperately wanted to embody, and I told him as much. I didn't like the way my hand felt in his hand, like my fingers were longer, my veins more bulged. His calluses did not make my heart flutter in my chest, and his lips never turned my blood into fiery streams inside my vessels. I knew from the get go that we would never be more than strangers bound together by greed, one for self-destruction and the other for satisfying his ravening needs. He was swallowed by my darkness in the end, falling to the abyss of my hellfire as I casually lit another cigarette and watched the flames feast on his flesh from above.
