The Crooked Chronicles

life is a crook

It’s Late

My god can save you.

His teeth were cracked tiles that his tongue incessantly walked across.

Open your heart.

He unsheathed his knife, spoke with incendiary words that would’ve gone up in flames at the first hint of a spark. 

"No," I answered. "He can’t."

He coiled round me like a snake, pressing up against me. His skin was rough and cracked.

What will you do without me?

I tried to answer, but I couldn’t; he stole the words out of my mouth, took them and ran into the shadows of some sleazy town, using my doubts as currency to fuel his addiction to the nightmares. My words changed hands, and just like that they were lost forever.

Stubbornness has killed your kin, as it has killed you. Nothing has meaning if you can’t sit with your sorrows at night. Who will save you? Without those words, you are worthless even to me. You would be better off on the other side of the line, playing close to the edge in the hopes that you’d eventually come back, even for a moment. But there are no ghosts here; only demons. 

I heard his whispers in my sleep. I never dreamt again.

  1. perpetual-autumnleaves reblogged this from crooked-life
  2. a--b--o--u--t-me reblogged this from crooked-life
  3. onedamnedrose reblogged this from crooked-life
  4. followyourdreamslove reblogged this from crooked-life
  5. crooked-life posted this
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.