i never could find the beauty of death until i found you.

you smoked clove cigarettes because your mother couldn't stand the smell of menthols.
you had tattoos littering your skin--legend and myth narrated through picture up your arms.
you were a terrible kind of beautiful, with your insufferably dark eyes and cornsilk hair.
your smile dwarfed the sun and cherubs sought your head.
your nails were dirty and shoes falling apart; your skateboard had pinup girls and surf shop decals covering the bottom.
your sticky hands took anything and everything that you could hold onto at stores just because you could.

you truly were demonic, with fleeting smiles and half dead eyes. you never returned my calls, and at parties we'd hardly speak even though when it was me and you, you didn't know how to be quiet. you would kiss other girls sloppily and drunkenly right in front of me, with lots of tongue and little care.

but when you call at 3 a.m. i cone always. if you needed me, i would crawl to your side if necessary. you take full advantage.

and in my head, as i rationalized how i'd spend my eternity chasing after you, i wondered, "when we die and he rules the underworld, i will follow him there. i'm sure the brimstone and hellfire isn't all that bad anyways."
i still want to know what your tongue tastes like when you drink strawberry liquor anyhow.