STARDUST RUMOURS.

YOU TOP THE LIST OF BAD HABITS THAT I'LL NEVER LEARN TO GIVE UP.

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THE 7 DEADLY SINS OF A RED CARPET BOY WITH POOLS OF CARBON IN HIS EYES.

i. he tells me that the iron in his bittersweet blood pumps just for me but the blasphemous taste of gun metal on his plump honeysuckle lips bears other pretty names on it.

ii. he runs his tongue along my bloodied lip and bitten flesh as a candied apology leaves his own because love's a bloodsport and the only way he knows how to love is to kill.

iii. he mixes vintage kerosene and cranberry juice in a wine glass in the backseat of my audi and leaves the blood orange sun rays to seep into my latex lungs and bleach my burning bloodstream of his carboned deception.

iv. he sows bruised peonies and sullied violets between the crevices of my teeth and leaves me with corroded cavities that rot in liquid acetone; he tells me i am his favourite cryptic coup d'maître.

v. he burns out his cedar wood cigars onto my glassy skin and watches them pop, crackle, and melt into my paperclip bones and grow tumor cells within the cracks of my coconut rum ribcage until i wither to smoke and dust.

vi. he bares his teeth and weaves toluene tessellations from arsenic ashes and gossamer silk that wrap around my throat like cheap cellophane and swallow me whole like acid tabs on razorback tongues.

vii. he is a clockwork cathedral built on phosphorescent friday passions and satiating sunday sins who kisses gospel into my thighs and i fall to my knitted knees for a devil with the framework of a god.