Following a Promise (jaxraven)details

[Picture: Following a Promise (jaxraven)]

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Following a Promise (jaxraven)

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Yes, in proper Depressed Deviant style, let me present something a bit more my normal style...


(text along right side of image)

Everything I build for you
The years will turn to dust
The love that has me crying now
The world will blame on lust
This moment as my eyes close tight
Denying that you’ve gone
Tomorrow will be nothingness
Beneath a different dawn
A galaxy awaits us, love
A world without the fear
That put the blade into your hand
And bid you leave me here


*shrugs* It’s been another long night. Not, though, a bad one.

Stock credits: ~Colt-Stock of course, to whom I apologise for dragging him into a tale of suicide... *barefootliam, who is welcome to consider this the first of my six entries (currently, I’m barefoot)... and ~gothika-stock. The only font used is Times New Roman.

Interested in the text of the tale? Read on...

(main text) promised you wouldn’t ever leave me...

There’s blood on the floor, a trickle leading away from your mouth. Your teeth aren’t gleaming, no light, no reflection, your lips guarding a darkened, red-rich cave. So much blood and yet so little. It’s not all over the place. It’s not some huge flood. Almost all in one spot. You look as if you’re trying to hold it all, your arms struggling to encircle every drop.

The floor is cold beneath my feet, almost ice, enough to make me wish I’d been wearing shoes. Or socks. Or anything. There’s no rug to stand on but that’s ok, it’s only fair that I feel cold. Something outside numbing me to match this chill creeping outward from my stomach. It’s so cold, hard to breathe, I’m actually surprised I can’t see my breath.

Somehow you kept your hair dry, and it looks so beautiful right now. I know how it feels between my fingers, when I pet it, tug it, nuzzle it. I know what it’s like to wake up, not moving, just staring at your hair. I know what it tastes like, even; memories of you moving with me, the strands sweat-slick, catching in my mouth when I gasp.

You’re just sitting there, a smear of strawberries or wine on your lips where you licked them.

Your eyes are closed... you look peaceful. Not really smiling but content, happy. Why do you look so happy now when in my arms, you cried? Two fingers are stained as well... is that where the red on your lips came from? I can imagine you licking away a few drops, rolling them in your mouth, tasting them before your lips parted again into this almost-smile.

Crimson, lapping at your skin. It’s swirling, patches darker, lighter, but blending slowly. How long did it take to reach this perfect hue, I wonder... how many drops, how many minutes, hours? The room smells a bit like roses and catnip. There’s a couple candles burnt down to stubs, not much time left for them before the wicks are turned completely to ash and the wax runs out. I can see a couple drops of wax on the floor.

Funny, the floor seems almost hot now that I’m sitting on it, level with you. I guess I understand why you’re naked, if it felt this warm for you. Easy to justify stripping off my clothing, settling back, watching you. You’re at peace for the first time in a long time, I can’t possibly be angry with you for that. I miss you already, only a few minutes and I know that I can’t cope with this, I needed you.

You promised you wouldn’t leave me but you’re gone. At least I know where you went. I can follow.

I’ll see you soon.

I love you.







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