thought demons were my friends

*Poser* · (This post was last modified: 10-22-2016, 11:13 AM by Poser.)

Jett's eyes still burned somewhere in Poser's heart. When everything is falling apart, young love feels like the real thing. It pretends to be real, it mimics all the signs and symptoms. When the boy is just old enough to make you feel like you're getting away with something, when he's running a pack all of his own. When he's responsible for taking care of so many, and all he wants to do is take care of you. It makes you feel like you're the most important one in the world. There was an ache in Poser's chest at even the sound of his name echoing in his head. Oh lord how he'd said his name. He hadn't even been Poser in those days. He'd been someone else. Someone far away. Someone that was warm on the inside instead of cold.

And then there was the sight of his body, crumbled, beneath the rubble. He couldn't save what was already dead. His first family, his first home. After that point in time there was nothing stable left. There was nothing real left. Poser was having those dreams again, the kind that burned from the inside out. What the hell, why does he hurt so badly? Why does it feel like his insides are at war with themselves? So much had been unresolved. So much still hurt. Fuck, he hadn't stopped hurting since he started introducing himself as Poser. Everything is empty.

He rushes out through the runestones. Poser is running from something that had already caught him, had long ago wrapped its jaws around his throat and squeezed. He hurts, and there's nothing to stop that. A vicious cycle of fighting himself, of destroying himself. There were no drugs that would calm his system. Instead it's running. He will run and run and run until his demons tire and he can sleep again. He will run through the darkness and he will run from all the things that should be able to catch him. That shouldn't be able to catch him.

Russian Wolfhound. He's literally been bred, selectively, for hundreds of years to slay wolves. But he has no interest in that. He has no need for that. Poser wants to befriend them, wants to find his home with them. He will run forever, a real racing hound. He will run until he tires. The demons were here, and they were alive inside his head. Hell had cracked wide open. So open, you understand, that they had taken over his thoughts and retrieved the mind they'd left in the wind. Poser is not doing well tonight.

As he slows at the runestones, Poser is falling apart. There's something in his chest that hurts. It's an emotional pain, the healer in him can still understand that. "Do you hurt too?" At this hour, the only ones that were up, did. They hurt. To be up at the witching hour, you were either in love or in pain. If you were alone, it was usually the second one. Poser's sapphire gaze finds the other creature in the dark. It wouldn't kill him to ask, right? Probably.
your charged touch
poser
breathy way of saying my name

sorry about the word vomit >.> Poser apparently wanted to talk about his life story.

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