𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇

¹⁰

𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒.

his lips tasted of nothing but alcohol and forgotten tragedies.
long, sleepless nights and the smoke that would one day end
his reign over the broken city he ruled. his eyes, dark and swi-
mming endlessly with the sorrows of his past, the ruins of his
once oh-so-lovely dreams. what a bittersweet tale his own
decisions had resulted in.

the male's hands, weathered out and roughened, still moved
along countless bodies, grazing over unmarked skin that his lips
would eventually trail over as the night began to pass. romantici-
zing his own worries and seeking the warmth of others when all
he needed in the end was maybe a bottle or two for himself. those
endearing nicknames that'd slip past his mouth found homes in
worn hearts of the needy, the lost, the ones craving love so much
that they'd fall for strangers at will. he took a break from the crowds
of drunkards and instead kept to himself for a while, before even the
silence appeared to be of no help. nothing, no one, no amount of
drugs or money or lust, could ever even dream about being able to
fix his issues, his attitude, his life. no matter how hard he tried,
nothing would work.

and maybe that's what brought him down in the end.