“Red On My Ledger”

Can you? Can you wipe out THAT much red?

No,  no you can’t.  It’s my blood on your ledger- it’ll never be wiped out.

The moment you see me tweeting something like this,

Cursing at you in a very frightening and malicious way and killing you in my head in the hopes of you dying very, very soon. 🙂

and/or this,

I AM MAD… sort of.  Go get hit by a truck please, I want to shave off your stupid hair along with your face 😀

it only means I have unfinished business and an unsettled conscience triggered by one stupid thing.
(Thank you for failing me, curiosity.  This is what I get for finally deciding to put you on Restricted, and running into your profile picture, where I realize you’ve cut your hair similarly to how mine has looked for the past one and a half years.  It still looks better on me, believe it.)

It may not have been intentional, or maybe it was- I don’t know, and I honestly don’t care anymore, and I haven’t for quite a long while (ehem, I finally completely blocked you from viewing my profile to its core, you preposterous stalker!) but it doesn’t pacify my annoyance any more than your arrogance can.

I hate you, and I’m letting the world run its course in killing you slowly.
I won’t have any of your filthy blood on my hands, I assure you.

Your ledger is dripping.  It’s gushing red.

LIKE LOKI.

Her Choice

She sits alone, peeling off the skin from her fingers.

She’s getting ready for bed.

She’s toned to an extreme pink, still bleeding for the most part.

She’s crawling in.

Her peeled skin settles, dries up, and vanishes. They still linger.

Her bed is now soaked with red.

Her hands twitch, pondering over her choice of art-

to show what’s within.

She lets her hands entwine- far enough from reaching the trigger.

She cries and prays and bows her head.

She has no reason- she has her unattended heart.

So she peels off her skin.

I try to stop her.