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knife called lust

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knife called lust

Post  clicks on Tue Oct 25, 2011 3:27 am

just a quick test with my new table. not planning on having any sort of rp haha.





Somewhat crafty, life was. A tricky bitch that cornered you and forced you to do things you wouldn't normally do. Life brought out the worst in you, and Takeshi knew that better than most. Life never treated Takeshi well, but he'd learned the tricks of the trade, simply extending his middle fingers and screaming fuck the world. And the alcohol certainly helped him. It always had. It took away the pain and replaced it with some sort of airheaded happiness. Under normal conditions, he would have liked to be in control of his thoughts, but when he didn't want to think... Whiskey was one good thing Life had blessed him with, so it can't have been that cruel. Not when it offered such a blissful escape. Such a blissful escape indeed...

Takeshi's bloodshot eyes found the bottle, meanwhile the world swayed left and right around him. He leaned toward it, barely managing to wrap his fingers around the neck of the bottle. He sat back against the couch again, shutting his eyes, wondering faintly how many drinks he'd had. It had to be at least one bottle of whiskey, right? He turned his head slowly toward the liquor cabinet, finding it hard to focus. One...two...three... There were supposed to be at least five bottles. He laughed half-heartedly, his eyes flickering shut once again as he took another sip from the bottle. Some of the foul liquid spilled over onto his shirt, but he didn't care; he was probably too drunk to even notice at this point. Fuck, he mumbled, collapsing onto the couch face first with the bottle still in hand. A bit sloshed onto his carpet. He mumbled something into the pillow his face was crushed in. If only you could see me now, Shiromi, he muttered, laughing. You'd love this side of me. You haven't seen it have you? He turned slowly onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It's a trainwreck in here, isn't it? Sorry I haven't bothered to clean it up. I've been busy with some other things.

Another gruff laugh as he turned toward the t.v. Alcohol stained carpet and an old coffee table separated him from the device. Isn't it picture perfect, Shiromi? Isn't it just like the house you said we'd buy together, before I fucked that up too? The carpet is just wonderful. Don't you love the smell of smoke and alcohol mixed together? Just fantastic. He coughed into his hand, then sighed. I'm going to die in this house, aren't I? Die alone with this bottle...on this couch...and you won't be here with me. Takeshi turned to face the coffee table, reaching out to place the bottle onto the wood. Something caught his eye, and he blinked down at his arm. His other hand reached out to trace the old faded scars. He frowned, closed his eyes and lied back against the pillow. I'm sorry, Shiromi, he mumbled. Just tell me you'll take me back...Tell me you love me.. That's all I need to hear.

He wrapped his hand around his wrist tightly, resisting the urge to scratch open the scars. Forgive me, Shiromi.





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