Bare to the core

She believes that violence over the existence and perseverance in every emotion somehow needs to be continually earned- even to be deserved. She enjoyed her ability to take away his metaphorical inner extremities with ease. Feeling complete fulfilled her, in a way only he could identify with. He grabbed her hair and tied it with barbed wire of lust and longing. Black under her eyes and smeared cherry-colored lipstick. He injected her with pain. She watched him bend from the unbearable bone pain, watching how she relentlessly struggles to show him how he drains her blood and sweetens himself. Is that so? She knew she was bitter and poisonous, but he needed to survive. Sadist and masochist. Lethargic to each other, yet the strongest aphrodisiac. They suffer and immerse themselves in what they create to destroy each other. Their cries are forming part of the causal structure, making her emotionally resonant. Invisible acts can be brutal and influential on the violence that’s displayed, perhaps more than he thinks. She knew what to reveal and what to keep for the next time they were eating and biting each other’s lips until they were full.

Two pale creatures, eaten by demons, emerged from the darkness, shaking their chains and wrapping them around each other’s necks. They explode as they become one, and their particles finally turn into breathing oxygen. The vacant period of suppressing lies for as long as they can, deepening the ascent and raising the stakes to a higher level until what hides in the dark finally reveals. For that same reason, they climb a cliff and put one foot forward in the open. They create a nightmare and never felt better than then. A reminder of their mortality. It’s safe for them to deal with that dose of adrenaline. Her skin on his, burning and smelling like sin and blood, becomes colorless and rough. He takes her savagely and pins her against the wall. The pieces of her skin, which are his reason for a double dose of agony, remain under his nails. That satisfies him.

Digging his palms with nails, the only thing he can see is skin with wrinkles becoming sharp and tearing his flesh. They are tearing her, too. Tissue that multiplies and becomes one. They scream until their veins come out and the arteries explode like their destructive nature in the climax does. Inside, they are the masters of darkness. They build comfort in which they unite only to break it when it becomes too difficult to breathe separately. Paradox and riddle, contrast and partial fracture, they are delusional in what psychology cannot explain. Mental chaos of madness and rebellion in intermittent proportions of soulless faces. Bare to the core, with the damaged cells and pupils of an indigo color, they push one another into the abyss and bury themselves with unnecessary ideals, aware that they can only exist in worlds where anomalies define their exceptionalism.

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