Dark and twisted fantasies swirling in the back of our minds like a lost kite,
We are all programmed to desire the bitter taste of chaos,
to fall in love with the rush of sin.
Our whole world and existence is molded by the act of sin, we would be nothing, we wouldn't be who we are without it.
We have the freedom and the curse of following our hearts,
we have the freedom of acting upon the things we know aren't right in that moment.
You have the freedom to question what actually is right.
This is what it truly means to feel alive.
The heart wants what the heart wants
and your brain is just smashed blackberries in between your fist and you don't care about the stains as it drips on your carpet.
You know what you're doing is "wrong" but you do it anyway because it feels so ******* good, even better than drugs and love itself.
You're lost in the moment, time doesn't exist.
You rip the wings off a butterfly and place them on your skin, infatuated by it's glittering beauty and how it feels against your moving chest.
You can observe the pattern more clearly and notice what you couldn't see while you were too busy ripping apart the fragile wings for your own amusement.
You realize what you have done and you scream until your glass lungs shatter and your tears become stones in your hands,
You get on your hands and knee's and scrub the carpet raw trying to get the stain out but it only smears and fades.
You place the stones on top of the stain
and hope that nobody will notice,
that they won't say a word,
that they'll keep on walking by without a glance.
Eventually, someone will lift the stones
and will see the mistake that you have been trying so desperately to hide.
