of lies
he sat in the largest armchair like it was a throne, long legs outstretched, feet propped up on the great. three years of playing kings and conquerors had taught him to sit that way in every chair, onstage or off.
people always forget about you
and later they always wish they hadn't
i, on the other hand, was average in every imaginable way: not especially handsome, not especially talented, not especially good at anything but just good enough at everything that i could pick up whatever slack the others left.
but that is how a tragedy like ours breaks your heart, by making you believe that the ending might still be happy until the very last minute
as if we were villains on necessity
i wept for your killer and left flowers at their grave, if someone told me it's impossible to love the sinner as much as the victim i'd tell them they're wrong, because when i saw your body, sprawled across the bedroom floor, with cold toes and fingers wearing scars instead of jewels, with a bullet trough your head, clasping a note that read "another murder found dead" you were still pretty dammed lovely