Doubt.
You can find this piece of writing, and more, on this character account. This is my final post.

Oliver felt sick. The black cloud that always hovered above him became darker, colder; its tendrils reaching out to touch the depths of his soul. Sometimes, he forgot he had a heart at all. Sometimes, he forgot the throbbing, screaming organ inside his chest, begging for release.

The thoughts wouldn’t leave his brain. He moaned and he twisted and he stumbled and he drank, but the thoughts wouldn’t leave. Even the moon, howling down at him like a filthy warewolf, didn’t move him. It didn’t shake him, didn’t force the thoughts from his brain, the ones that clogged his ears like melted cheese and crept up through his nostrils and poured hot shame into his cheeks.

Her skin had been so smooth, her thighs so supple, her warm breath almost human. Oliver wanted to think he hadn’t known, wanted to think he simply hadn’t guessed and had been blissfully unaware, but he’d known. The minute he’d entered her and seen her glistening skin and her milky eyes, he’d known. But he’d done it anyway.

What did that make him? Was he still a true member of the Bloodhawks? What were their policies on fucking supernaturals? On letting their tongues circle his chin and their hands clasp his hair and their filthy mouths moan in release?

Oliver’s mouth hardened as he slunk through the streets, pacing grimly back to his dark, quiet wreck of a house, its foundations crumbling and its windows cracked, as vulnerable as Oliver felt. He scratched at his skin, wanting to let the sin out, wanting to be rid of the touch of her skin, the warmth of her breath. And the murders he had committed, the horrific torturing and burning and killing, they wanted to be let out, too. But Oliver held them in, captured them in the palm of his hand and stuffed them, struggling and shrieking, into the depths of his soul.

And he stalked the streets alone.

Goodbye.
Bye, everyone!

For those of you that remember me, I’m Rai, and I used to come here quite a lot. For the past few months, this blog has been really inactive.

A few months ago, I discovered Tumblr roleplaying. Yeah, it sounds lame, but whatever. It’s a way to practice and improve on my writing in a less critical environment where I can just have fun. It’s likely I won’t be back here anytime soon. So I guess this is my parting message.

For those of you that followed me while I was here, I truly appreciate it. Thanks for believing in me and giving me your time. For those of you that want to find me, you can do so:

Want to find my roleplays?

Thank you again! I’ll post something I wrote recently as my last post.

Broken.

I

pace

                  silent chords fill my ears, crushing white noise, I

watch

                  laughter slits but there’s silence, words drowning in blood, I

wait

                  a tiger on the prowl, fresh meat for my sins, I

listen

                  to the creeping shadows, whispering like ghosts, they

                  feel me, watch me, hear me, crush me as I 

bleed.

Breathe.

I can’t stand this

               raging burning falling

feeling inside my chest, like the

      world is crushing me, killing

me, I’m

   alone.

                   Something presses, hits,

screams for freedom, I

                    swallow it down, unfold my wings and

fly.

Grey.

Line after line of

          broken bottles, broken

hearts and shadows;

Bleeding from the core, tears

                       golden in the fluorescent light

and they

                                        strip themselves of

feeling, so they can’t feel the

               pain.

"This guy don’t wanna battle, he’s shook…

There ain’t no suck things as half way crooks!”

(Source: )

souporta:

“new zealand accents and australian accents sound the same”

image

(Source: nigerian)

Mature.

We say we don’t feel it, the

         pressure pushing down like a boulder on our

shoulders.

Rhythmic ticking of the time bomb, we’re all

growing up.

› My proper personal blog.

Made a proper personal blog today. You probably won’t want to follow it, but here it is.

Destruction.

We stand in a

             circle,

hands clasped like fluttering

                            butterflies;

World collapsing into ash and

dust,

no-one letting go, no-one

                   facing the fire.