I've been begging for the one thing in life that can promise certainty; Death.
Death opened his arms to me, and every demon dragged me by the legs to Death's tempting smile.
I never imagined Death to look like every regret I ever had. He smiled like you, his eyes matched the sky and his voice whispered in the way you did everytime you lied.
Death was friendly; he shook my hand at our first meeting but his grasp was a bit too friendly and a bit too tight. It intrigued me, and it surely intrigued the anger inside of me.
There are two types of demons inside of me, and the strongest ones are masked with your laugh and your memory. Every time you told me you loved me, every time you lied and said "I'm not mad, cuddling is far better," created a breed of demon that begs for Death's kiss.
The other kind, the kind that I may never understand, begs for a love deeper than any body of water you kissed me in. But these demons are afraid of fire, they are afraid of passion. I call these demons Cowardice, and a coward I may be.
Death offered a home for us three, at the cost of giving up the life I had. I begged Death to let me go, but his response was just like yours and I still think of Death's kiss as if it's a reminder of every kiss you place upon my skin.