"he says he cannot see the weight i feel myself carry but i am an unstable giant in a small boy's body, i expand through my skin like my bones are a prison, i feel dark hands pushing against my ribs, i can hear something screaming if i just listen late nights, late nights, where the giant in me sinks her teeth deeply into the bits of my heart that are still beating. late nights where the texts go unanswered and nobody notices when i say things like "haha funny i'm so sad i'm dying" haha funny, haha the world is ending he says i am tiny, tiny, kissable, dainty. no thunderstorm, no rainfall, no tornado incoming. little beach waves. little seashell. i am pandora's box. i contain hell." [larry stylinson ] © babyboyfriends

Harry Styles is a sad mess of a boy who kind of thinks about dying all the time, stutters ferociously when nervous, sings very well but doesn’t think so, meets a band, sort of joins that band, falls in love with the short one with the nice butt and pretty blue eyes, deals with his “father’s” increasing violence towards him, collects tattoos, and writes this all down in a dingy brown diary filled with endless ink, morbid thoughts, and Louis’ name. No big deal.

I was captivated, but he was all too good at his profession: Harry Styles, Playboy. © wrenadler, All Rights Reserved. (Larry with some Ziam)