xxvenit-anathemaxx

She’s the kind of girl that wakes up in the afternoon wearing the clothes she wore yesterday and doesn’t bother to brush her hair, even though it’s Friday and she knows today’s the day he’ll be home. She flips open her phone at the bus-stop and doesn’t read his messages, just tells him miss you, be there soon, leaving out most of the vowels. He’s already there but doesn’t tell her it’s been hours; he’s been waiting for her to be in his arms, and that feeling he gets when she smiles. She’s gorgeous and she knows it, letting herself in; knowing that when she bends down to pet the ball of f

Fingers lift to his mouth, cigarette caught by gentle lips and his eyes close for the seconds he wants to ignore. With the lights out, sunshine, red hot against his eyelids has left the room there anyway, the window, the table, the door. He still can’t hear her breathe but feels her chest rise, her shoulders fall against his chest. Frightened, he drops his arm to the couch as if the seconds had become a moment stretched too long; he looks. Taps the crumbling ash into a glass before it falls and hurts her. Burns her. Lips pressed just slightly open by his thigh, her soft body follows. Ups and downs he lives to trace with hands, with eye

stranger boy, you’re all shoulders back pressed into the seat jaw line hard and straight and disappears, surrounded by one perfect layer curves under to touch grace covetyour throat stranger watch the show so I can’t see your face I want to know you lose this tension on you chest tighter for each way each strand falls stranger I want to curl fingers curl them into your long red real red natural hair