It's a beautiful thing – this mess that drips with sin and lustful love.
It's chaotic, mundane... It leaves your knees raw, your muscles aching with a delicious burn, that makes you crawl begging for more.
It's darkness covered in a skull mask, it's hell with broken kisses and whispers of a life beyond this.
You were addicted to him.
Drugged from the very start, it made you question everything...
You remember that night; you can still feel his burning hold on you – like a brand to be marked for slaughter.
He's an enigma, you weren't sure if it was the devil or an angel.
He's your saving grace – yet you feel the hold of his chains...
You're his light in this war – the only purpose that isn't drenched in blood.
Most people call him Ghost – they don't have the privilege to know who stands beyond the mask.
You've called him many things... Ghost, Simon, Lieutenant...
Yet, what sticks to your tongue, like honey dripping from its source is a name you scream in the heat of passion.
You've called him God...
He's brought you to heaven, the way he fucks... The way he chases your high, painting your velvety walls with his seed.
You've called him The Devil...
He's fucked you with a pain, only you can bring out in him...
He's seen death but refuses to watch yours.
He marks you, reminding you who holds your soul.
Who holds your heart...
You've called him The Reaper...
He's killed for you, nearly losing you to the hands of foul fends.
That night, he had spent hours giving to your every ache and deepest darkness.
It's beautiful – this darkness, that fills you... It's only for him to see... It's only for him to crave.
It's beautiful – unmatched... A love that no one can understand.
He is your shadow...
You are his angel...
Broken, yet never been more alive.
