Black Webs

Where The Wolves Go

Two feet standing on a principle,
two hands longing for each other's warmth
cold smoke seeping out of colder throats
darkness falling, leaves nowhere to go
it's spiralling down
biting words like a wolf howl
hate is spitting out each others mouths
but we're still sleeping like we're lovers

xxxxx

t w e n t y - s e v e n

S t i l e s

TWO WEEKS AGO

I chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?!"
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality...

Kisses under starry night skies, talked about in song, we play along, so bitter sweet by our design...

At first I thought you were a constellation. I made a map of all your stars and had a revelation. You're as beautiful as endless. You're the universe I'm helpless in...

Someone was ringing the doorbell. He really didn't want to answer it. He wanted to close his eyes, lose himself in his music, and wallow.

He thought he ought to deserve a good ol' wallowing session.

In his circumstances, he deserved an oil massage, a free ticket to the best spa in the world, and maybe some therapeutic sex.

Instead, all he was asking for was one wallowing session before he got back on his feet and faced the real world.

The real world didn't give a damn about his feelings, or about how exhausted he was, or about how his nightmares kept him up all night, and how the sun kept him up all day.

Someone rang the doorbell again. Stiles checked his watch. It was two in the morning, and his father was probably out like a light. He heaved a dramatic sigh and paused his music, yanking off his headphones and stretching a little so that his muscles cooperated with him as he struggled to get off of his bed.

Who could be ringing the bell at this strange hour? he thought.

When his feet touched the ground, the floorboards felt like ice bergs. It was nearing winter, and New York, traditional to its gelid history, was keeping its frosty promises.

He caught a fleeting glance of his own ghostly face in the full-length mirror by his closet as he made his way towards the staircase that led downstairs.

Sometimes he could barely recognize his own face. It had changed drastically after Void had perversely invaded his body.

The dark circles were ever-present shadows, his face felt pallid instead of pale, his hair was always a bedraggled mess that he didn't bother fixing anymore.

There was a bleary, defeated kid living in his irises, and he had his blinds down; blocking out the world he once welcomed with wondrous, wandering light. His t-shirt and pajama pants were crinkled because he'd been wearing them for the past two days. There was a coffee stain at the hem of it; one which's emergence he couldn't quite remember.

He was a disaster and he knew it.

I'll fix myself, for them.

I can pretend, at least. I can pretend.

He made his way down the staircase and yanked open the door. When he caught sight of who was standing before it, he swore his heart stopped for a few seconds. When it began to beat again, his stomach erupted in a massive explosion of butterfly parades.