cameron monaghan imagines:)

"scars." (words from jerome valeska)

i wake every morning to her tracing the lines etched into my chest by my mother and random men from my childhood.
i fall asleep every night to her tracing the gashes made of hate and anger, but she looks at them like art.
sometimes she'll tear up to me about them, about how i still have them.
but my wounds have successfully healed when she started assessing them with her soft and light touch.
she's infatuated with my scars.
she'll eye them from across the room whenever visible.
she finds them breathtaking and beautiful.
does she not know the ugly of these?
everytime i tell her these things, she pays no mind.
sometimes i feel so repulsive and disgusting with these on my body.
when i tell her, she tells me they're beautiful, that they're perfect.
she'll see me crying to myself sometimes over these things.
she's always there to kiss every scar, every gash, every insecurity of mine and tell me it's beautiful.
how can her eyes fool her like this?
was there an evil spell casted on to her?
is she just trying to make me feel better?
how could she admire a scar ridden body like mine?
especially when she has her soft, bare, pale baby soft skin of hers.
she'll kiss every stitch on my face when i complain about how it may or not be lopsided.
she still calls me handsome when i wake up.
how?
her love and touch will last forever...
just like my scars.

a/n: what the fuck is this?
-d e a n n a