“what if i would?” head tilts, muscles visibly tensing ‘neath skin in touch’s absence. missing her hands like a part of himself.
still, unshakable air of insolence bleeds from them, instinctive baring of teeth to authority …
this anger owns me. it swallows me whole. this anger owns me. it swallows me whole. this anger owns me. it swallows me whole. this anger owns me. it swallows me whole. this anger owns me. it swallows me whole. this anger owns me.
busy hands are key to keeping mind’s ever so troubled waters quiet … at least for a few moments. less so, when eyes can be felt boring into frame, all but dissecting every swipe of ink like subject under microscope. their shoulders roll, jaw flexing just faintly, but eyes