06-13-2017, 01:42 AM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
“You are trespassing.”
The rumbling baritone of his voice emerges through the thick of the warm silence of evenfall, as the vivid crimson of his burning eyes bore into her, seeking some sort of explanation etched into the delicate, feminine curves of her pallid face – but finding none. The heat of summer is stifling, enveloping the girth of his tall, broad frame, as rivulets of perspiration trickle down along the faint lining of his rib cage straining against the marred darkness of his skin. The sun is unyielding, bathing him in its fervent light, tracing every puckered, pink scar lining his skin – some older than others, but still stark in contrast to the shadow of his flesh.
She is seemingly oblivious, unaware that she has traipsed beyond the border of the volcanic island, though the volcano itself is hidden away from sight today – a thick, tepid haze surrounding its base, while thick plumes of smoke shield its crest from sight, even at a distance. It does not rumble today, nor is it stirring with life – it is quiet, and content within the sweltering heat of summer.
He is unamused, yet his dark eyes hold no contempt, nor do the rigid lines of his distinct features hold any ire. Quietly, his gaze observes the golden sheen of her skin, and the finely preened feathers of her unusually colored wings – and finally, the deep curve of her dished face, seemingly content and altogether unaware of the domain of which she has encroached.
”State your name, and where you are from.”
The rumbling baritone of his voice emerges through the thick of the warm silence of evenfall, as the vivid crimson of his burning eyes bore into her, seeking some sort of explanation etched into the delicate, feminine curves of her pallid face – but finding none. The heat of summer is stifling, enveloping the girth of his tall, broad frame, as rivulets of perspiration trickle down along the faint lining of his rib cage straining against the marred darkness of his skin. The sun is unyielding, bathing him in its fervent light, tracing every puckered, pink scar lining his skin – some older than others, but still stark in contrast to the shadow of his flesh.
She is seemingly oblivious, unaware that she has traipsed beyond the border of the volcanic island, though the volcano itself is hidden away from sight today – a thick, tepid haze surrounding its base, while thick plumes of smoke shield its crest from sight, even at a distance. It does not rumble today, nor is it stirring with life – it is quiet, and content within the sweltering heat of summer.
He is unamused, yet his dark eyes hold no contempt, nor do the rigid lines of his distinct features hold any ire. Quietly, his gaze observes the golden sheen of her skin, and the finely preened feathers of her unusually colored wings – and finally, the deep curve of her dished face, seemingly content and altogether unaware of the domain of which she has encroached.
”State your name, and where you are from.”
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING