Chapter Text
They say your blood is mafia black.
And yet you bleed with every breath you take, your blood vociferous in its hunger to escape your veins. Each step forward is accompanied by the drag of your coat against a floor made of skulls, cracked and crushed under your leather heel and your army of guns wielded by goons who have surrendered their mental acuity to your wielding. Each day that unfurls bring with it the all-consuming terror that you are awake once again to repeat the tediousness, that you have failed to seduce death into taking you to her embrace.
They say your blood is mafia black.
And yet, despite bleeding out from all of your pores, your mask ineffectual in hiding the demon underneath, nobody seems to notice that each breath you take leaks blood from your mouth. It is your mouth that spreads the command like judgment hammering down on your enemies. It is your mouth that punctures holes into the psyche of your opponents, that tortures informants into spilling their secrets.
It is your mouth that is unable to say anything close to an admission that all of the black blood slipping out has left you hollow.
They say your blood is mafia black.
Even though you’ve bled everything out and stained everything black—why is it that nobody comes to save you?
‘Help’ is a foreign word that burns heavier than a thousand needles on your tongue, so you don’t say it.
When you’ve met a brilliance that rivals the sun in its intensity, you decide that you’d rather be consumed by its flames, rather than admit that you simply want that warmth to be shared to you.
They continue to say your blood is mafia black.
Eventually, you believe them.
Eventually, it won’t matter anymore.