dancing after death

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

The games were nearly always the same when it came to him, but situations and whom it was with were the main deciding factors. He had taunted and squirreled his way in multiple times, only to offer no respite for the majority. She had been the weakness before, and he can’t help the curl of his smirk while she tilts her head to him and he focuses on her a bit harder.

“Yes. Make it up to me.” He says back, a flair of arrogance and pride beneath the words, much like before. But she’s learned to challenge back, and he hums a small amount of laughter, leaning forward just enough that he’s almost touching her, arms braced for support to keep some amount of distance. “I seem to recall we had a conversation once before about how you tempt fate.” He offers, taunting again. It’d be so easy, yet again, to spend a night with her. But the results after gave him caution, and so he doesn’t react, nothing more than the typical stretch of boundaries he usually did. Waiting until it becomes too much.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth