SWAN SONG; tom riddle

𝖎𝖎

dear tom,

          how did my throat feel beneath your fingers? did you enjoy it, revel in it? or did you take no solace in the task of killing me? i'd be worried if you didn't. you are you, after all.

until i realized your hands had the intention of crime rather than pleasure, i enjoyed the feel of my larynx being crushed to black dust beneath your merciless grip.

is that sick? i don't care.

it's no secret that i'd still adore you with those slender fingers wrapped around my ivory neck, basking in the jubilant trance of my body losing air by the second.

it's sick, i know. though i'm not the only one who gets off on pain am i?

how many times have you asked me to drag the tip of my favorite blade down your chest? sinful sounds that could make the devil cower in fear falling from your pomegranate lips as your ichor spurted from the fresh wounds you practically begged me to create?

moments like that reminded me your nothing but a man slaved to his own sick desires. you were, in some ways, like all the others but your taste was much more enigmatic. much more black and twisted.

          good thing i like my men vile.

if only you knew it made my death easier to associate you with the repulsive male population. looking into those mesmerizingly black eyes, that pleasure-ridden gaze you held, the one that left every passing girl weak in the knees, was identical to the look you gave me in my bed.

          it was nauseating, really. how my impending death elicited the same, if not more, emotion that was reserved for when you touched me.

          i suppose i ought to have learned not to be surprised by the depth of your wretched heart. it's morbidly fitting how you'd feel desire and lust from watching me die.

          i'm not exactly sure what i'm striving to achieve here, tom. i wasn't sure of anything when you waltzed into my life, leaving chaos and ruin in your wake. just know that you'll see me soon. i'm waiting for you, tom, and i have eternity to do so.

we always wagered who would live longer. do you remember that?

i certainly do.

the only problem is you fucking cheated. i should've known you were incapable of playing an honest game without tipping the odds in your favor, even when the game is my life. you are nothing if not a creature of habit.

but i hold all the cards now, my love.

you've outlived me just as you claimed you would, but i'm biding my time and creating my own odds.

a new game has begun, darling and the gods are all in my corner, watching with fervent eyes as i scheme.

because while you waste your precious moments in the land of living, i'm miles beneath you planning for the day you inevitably will join me.

          the first thing i'll do is kiss you. i'll replace the odor of fresh death radiating from your corpse with my lips, the affects of rigor mortis just barely leaving your beautiful body but a hint of a tremor making you convulse like a doll bound to its puppeteer.

i'll taste the residue of a life well lived on your tongue. it will be simply divine to be in your arms again but it will be brief.

please enjoy it tom, revel in it.

because soon after, i'll crush the remainder of your withered, worthless soul between my deteriorating bones, leaving nothing but cinders and ash for the demons of the badlands to feast upon.

yours,
florizel