Gluttony

"Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour." Les Misèrables; Victor Hugo

I can sense it instant that I see you; I can taste the resignation on my full and swollen lips. It's stench is nauseatingly sweet, a sticky salve that coats my lips and leaves them glistening. It fills the air, so thick and dense even my hands dissolve into nothingness before my eyes.

My fervent fingers fly over the keys with a mind of their own, gliding from one page to the next. I must know more of you, so much more than the contents of those chosen, few words you've already disclosed to me, and to the world. They are pitiful scraps beside a feast. You are a spark that I never doubted, yet never expected to burn so brightly. Never let it be said I dislike surprises.

It's something that I find your false innocence. Forgive me for my candor, because it would not do for you to assume that I criticize or condemn. I say this fully understanding the implications of my presumption- you are not false, nor are you innocent, but what you are is new, different. You're somewhere stuck jauntily between their amalgamations, grinning out at me between the rubble, slightly more tarnished than the others; that's where I find you.

I often wonder what you saw in me. Sometimes the cold gin whispers to me, slithers into my ear where no on else can see it and injects the nightmares deep into the soft skin it finds there, hissing- flip the tables. And in those early hours, when the world is waking and I am tumbling off into restless slumber, I tell myself that it was you who found me, but we both know that cannot be true.

You call to me and ask me for counsel, which I most gladly give. You come to me and inquire for friendship, for shared words and desires- which I most gladly give. You heed my word, my guidance, without a glance reserved for well-deserved fear. I like that about you, and I almost feel obliged to share my gratitude, but there's something stopping me. Every time we speak, with every portion you serve me, my hunger only grows.

My thumbs itch against the keyboard, twitching with a desire to bury deep into your skin, find out if your insides taste as sweet as your simpering smile. Your skin is soft, or it appears soft from what I can see. It would not even deign the use of a sharpened blade. Those primitive weapons are hardly special enough for you- my raw and uncut nail shall suffice.

I do hope you'll scream, but not too much. Did you know that music does, in fact, greatly aid digestion? I'll wager that you didn't, still lost in the screaming world of teen rebellion. Literature suggests that digestion is best served with music which stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system. So if you would, Daniel Howell, scream for me, just a little.

Despite the pixels and the miles between us, I can taste you on my lips. A spilt tongue could dart between them, sample the drops left in your wake. You're most delectable I'm sure, and ever so eager to assent.

Do you know how sweet you taste, little boy?

I'm so very hungry.


*panfs enters the realm of wow-that-more-than-slightly-creepy* but I hope you like this! Let me know what you thought, which bits you liked or didn't, I'd really love the feedback :) Two down, five more sins to go! Virtual chocolate chip cookies for Malteser24, JessiFlorabella (Florence is the best!), NeverlandNat, GingerTips, Locofoco88 and vogonsoup for their lovely reviews- I know it's different! But I'm so glad you're liking it so far and I hope that continues! :D

All my loves

xxx panfs