You were supposed to be a night terror made of smoke, not a man of flesh and bone who left footsteps in the dirt.

Love is violence my darling; it is a thunderstorm that tears apart your world, More often than not, love ends in tragedy, but we go on loving in the hope that this time it will be different.

I craved you the way maidens crave the grave, the way death burns for human touch: inconsolably, unrelentingly, aching for annihilation in your kiss.