i write to create, and to destroy. i write to analyze, to exaggerate, to avoid implosion. i write to forget, and i write to remember. i write to feel. i write to escape madness.
her hands are clammy and she can feel the sweat trickling down her spine. can she tell she's terrified? she wipes her hands on her shirt and looks everywhere but at the girl sitting next to her. her gaze is fixed on her and she can feel it, she can feel the way her stare covers inch after inch of her skin.
her scent, her glistening skin, her chapped lips, the finest of elixirs coursing through the pumping veins just beneath her skin. i drink it all in. i can't get enough of her and, oh, how her hands quiver. her terror warms my skin and my mouth is smiling. she won't look at me, and i absent-mindedly wonder if she is scared of what she will see, or of what she will feel. i brush a strand of hair across her cheek, out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. she jumps at my touch and for a fraction of a second, her gaze meets mine. her eyes are like trenches, and i fall into their depths.
she cannot help but to stare as this animal in a girl's image softens right before her eyes. she seems to melt, to lose all control of the situation at hand, and she surrenders to her. she looks up at her and her eyes are swimming in wonder and admiration. her lips dripping in desire, instead of blood.
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