“It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.”
I kissed a girl with a broken smile. She tasted like vodka and smelled of blood. You would tell her you loved her and you could never tell if she felt the same or despised you for saying it. She smiled at you like she knew something you didn’t, like she was always one step ahead. And oh god, was she. Her replies were always quick and witty as if she already knew what you were going to say. Her nails were always painted black which matched the black eyeliner framing her eyes. Whenever you begged her to stop smoking, she’d look at you with those eyes, those god damn eyes, and kiss you. She never did quit, though. You tried kissing the poison out of her, and all you were left with was rotting lips. She left claw marks on everything she touched, including your heart.