no matter what they say, I am still the king
He cannot remember the last time he has been embarrassed- the last time he has felt something so devastatingly fatal. He cannot remember the last time he has felt much at all. But here you are - a wreck o a web of emotions. And what can he do? He can slide inside that space between your bone and the knife (but why?). He could quell the heavy emotion that wrests over you. But to what end? When he leaves again - it will all just remain the same.
Your resilience tastes like char inside his mouth - you refuse to cry, you will not be afraid of the dark. You swim in the inky whirlpool of your sins; you cannot find a wall to hold on to and keep your head above. It is pleasing, in a way - how he can feel the difference between ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ inside your head. The battle of what you were, and what you are, and what you should be.
He does not remember when he tired of what he was. He cannot pinpoint the moment when being hardened and heartless was so appealing. Nothing is bruised - nothing is bleeding - but something is missing.
“I know you would have.”, he agrees. And your eyes are clearer now (but perhaps not your heart). The softness in his voice is a rift between what he was and what he should be. But he does not necessarily control it - how can he anymore, after decades of loneliness? There is an achingly long hallway before him, with so many doors (any, really - should he decide upon them). “I don’t ask.” And again, he is wrought back into the reality of who he is and, and the life he lives. ”I believe I only command.”
Your metallic taste is not overlooked - your heart tastes like metal. Something unforgiving and unwanting. Your weakness caves in at the bones and your soft spots bruise- like peaches. For once - he does not seek out the rot, but presses gently on skin.
“Kill it.” It is sudden, and a bright explosion in the midst of a dark conversation. His head jerks to your body - still so lithe (but nothing goes unheeded. There is salt in your veins and he can taste it.). “You’re in control now.” He says, as he steps closer. He threatens nothing of you, but his request is forcefully towards you. You have the choice.
“For once- you can control whether I stay or leave.” And he is not quite sure why he allows it of himself. Perhaps it is the years spent alone, perhaps it is the boredom, perhaps it is the fact his heart has never before been capable of love.
And closer still; his now-healed neck placed across your nose (a tease? A beg? A blessing?).Even closer (perhaps even the apex of where your bodies have been- where does his start, and yours end?). His chest is nearly to yours- his black heart beating nothing, but the tendrils of his magic reaching out to say please.
“I will stay with you, if we kill it.” And here is the stretch that even you may not reach.
(now, the storm is coming in)
@[Sabbath]