i swear you'll see the sun again; any

[sleaze]

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Once, he saw horrible things that may or may not have truly existed. It was a strange ordeal, terrible, one that left him half-mad and purple, with the ability to possess others (he doesn’t use this ability, not on purpose, he hates it). In the ordeal – the dream, or nightmare, or alternate universe – he saw monsters, girls, a clown with a Glasgow smile, a tiger with no face. And, later – shadow creatures made of darkness, a more visceral horror, but they did not haunt him the way the others do. Curious, the ways of madness. (He died there, too, drowned and burned and suffocated. The memory of death lives in stark relief.) So it is not with complete horror that he watches the raven transform itself into a mare, though his eyes widen and his breath catches, curious and a little frightened. He watches as her coat then changes colors, deepening into purple until it matches his. He wonders if he is being mocked. “Hello,” he says, wary, “you made quite an entrance.” He watches as the last bit of blue is swallowed on her coat. Indeed, it’s quite curious. “My name is Sleaze,” he offers then. It’s all he can offer. sleaze cancer x garbage