Work Text:
She said "i'll throw myself away,
They're just photos after all"
I can't make you hang around.
I can't wash you off my skin.
Outside the frame, is what we're leaving out
You won't remember anywayI can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flowDo you believe it in your head?
It's so safe to play along
Little soldiers in a row
Falling in and out of love
With something sweet to throw away.
But I want something good to die for
To make it beautiful to live.
I want a new mistake, lose is more than hesitate.
Do you believe it in your head?I can go with the flow
But don't say it doesn't matter anymore
I can go with the flow
Do you believe it in your head?
It's the pain of losing something as though you let it slip through your fingers. It was like light; you couldn't control it. It just happened.
Have you ever reached that hunger when you want to tear your hairs out? He was starving. He was once loved. Goddamn it, it tasted sweet and gave him a high.
Bent over a desk, a bed, gagged. Peter thought that was how he spelled L-O-V-E. If you asked Elias, he would tell you something way different. He meant all touch that brushed his heart, all comfort he experienced when his sick soul was being cured with the gentle hands. He didn't mean money, he didn't mean obedience. He meant Peter, his big body and mind that could heal him, but he didn't hear him.
Peter was at sea. He left him.
They fell in and out of love like it was a habit. It hurt him every time. He'd like to live aesthetically, just for the vibe. To be the one this time. His former partners died naturally or were killed and now... it seemed it was the end so he wished to enjoy it and make as many memories with the loved one as he could. It was way better than standing motionless and staring through the fog.
Maybe he was too old for any affection. He should've let him go without drama. He Knew eventually it wouldn't last forever, so there was no point in being cherished anymore.
No, it did matter. He couldn't simply go with the flow. Though he was rotting, he had the urge to be loved.
It slid through his fingers. He couldn't catch it, not this time.