she was a mink handjob in sarcophagus heels ;; he's the best-looking fuck you'll ever imagine and his tongue is the worst thing you'll ever want to hear. [i write reitaxruki, so ergo, this is a reitaxruki fanfic.] [concrit is welcomed]
the chameleon camaflouged and hid to preserve itself and save its virgin eyes from the unholy slaughter of animal against animal, zebra to the lions and carcass to hyenas. the viscera exposed, as appetising as the cheeks and pectoral flesh and meaty to the tongue and satiating for the stomach.
picked clean, from the tit to the bone marrow.
you're beautiful in expensive clothes and a cheap heart
thank you i bought them at the black market
not tonight i'll take the lead and your leash dog now bark
says the one who goes for ass like a bitch in heat
it's self-preservation in monetary gain, sweetheart
marring, marring; en el mar, el fuego te quemo. ¿se puedes a soplar?
este momento está una chinga por la gratis por le.
don't touch me
don't touch me
i feel like i'm on fire like the world's on fire—
we're halfway to the halfway house in hell
i don't want this or your disease quit picking my wounds and infecting me with chalk-flavoured kisses and ganegrene—
homosexuality. isn't. a disease. you tit.
you feel it or you don't.
and judging by your erection, you most certainly do feel it
and judging by how cheap you really are, i'd assume you were a second-hand fuck
mars coaxed venus in a tryst to show the world love. in truth, it was a well-played travesty of lustful intentions and ghb. he never realised the true strength of the volatile femme fatale, how she would turn her heartache and rage into the most unattainable mistress in the world. through each session and half-hearted 'i love you's
there was no woman behind the eyes. only a cold, dead hunk of rock.
you're a third-rate fool
you're a second-rate coward
you're a first-rate cunt
now shut up
and let me lick your wounds
and you can be on your fucking merry way
oh, struck a chord have i
no, i've no chords to strike since i'm a second-hand fuck, aren't i
you piss me off—
robbed of a voice in the throes of something other than passion because it was empty and devoid of any meaning. it was a revolution of sexuality and perversion in that it would keep moving like the wheel of a car, loosing grip and tread until it was nothing but a smooth circle and even then even then
it was still a sparking hubcap that tried to move and better itself
and just couldn't
just fucking go
because you know what
i'm sick of having fun for two
they were at the end of the rope. it frayed and fell and went apart from itself. legs spreads and arms flailed, the twine was burnt and spent.
did i meet your expectations.
you are the most expensive street whore i've ever met.
you live in a posh apartment complex
wear the finest furs
and keep yourself well to do
and here you are exchanging money for sex
and you weren't complaining about it two hours ago