A series of dares. Opportunity to keep dark in broad sunlight.
Possessiveness. Vanity. Trust.
Spoken directly in the ear in a rushed whisper.
No sound. If you make a sound, this stops.
And tongues get bitten. Flesh goes red.
A series of dares that grew beyond they’re frame.
And safety measures are put in place.
And the game goes wider and infects the head and the heart.
We are fantasy. We are the future. In fantasy.
Threats placed in perfect context, in a perfect space.
We pass the control back and forth.
We become Gods and tragedies and a strange song that keeps a beat in your rawest places.
A series of dares.
A dangerous game that left permanent marks.
I regret nothing.