The bite administered sings with pain all along his neck and shoulders, make a ringing screech at the back of his skull, and he thinks how Derek would be feeling none too different. His title, fraysong, proves ever true again in new and interesting ways.
This is the oldest dance of all time. This is the Messiahs at motherfucking work, though there's no angel of mercy here. There is no demon of good, only demons. He thirsts terribly to shred this fucker apart and the idea of being ripped to bits along with him ain't so bad a reverie.
Even when the knife is shoved in and shoved deeper and for a moment he wonders if it might rip open his breathing bits, bleed them, drown him slow, oh so slow, wouldn't that be poetic, wouldn't it be motherfucking just, the terror of no air to grasp as the drowning is ever internal. Or perhaps a tear through his guts, a carving out of his heart, it's all so fascinating, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts and the blood just spills on down like a river. Royal midnight. Is he dead yet? Has he died? Why can't he just motherfucking die?
Derek is the answer, Derek is his tie. He needs to crush Derek's bones one by one. Already one arm down. One, two, three, four, finish. Make him pay.
He curls his hand around the knife as best he can, dislodging is slow and sloppy with a muted groan, going into a snarl as he tears it fast and tries to throw it, make one last hit though he sways.
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This is the oldest dance of all time. This is the Messiahs at motherfucking work, though there's no angel of mercy here. There is no demon of good, only demons. He thirsts terribly to shred this fucker apart and the idea of being ripped to bits along with him ain't so bad a reverie.
Even when the knife is shoved in and shoved deeper and for a moment he wonders if it might rip open his breathing bits, bleed them, drown him slow, oh so slow, wouldn't that be poetic, wouldn't it be motherfucking just, the terror of no air to grasp as the drowning is ever internal. Or perhaps a tear through his guts, a carving out of his heart, it's all so fascinating, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts and the blood just spills on down like a river. Royal midnight. Is he dead yet? Has he died? Why can't he just motherfucking die?
Derek is the answer, Derek is his tie. He needs to crush Derek's bones one by one. Already one arm down. One, two, three, four, finish. Make him pay.
He curls his hand around the knife as best he can, dislodging is slow and sloppy with a muted groan, going into a snarl as he tears it fast and tries to throw it, make one last hit though he sways.