monster of the week

this is always the common thread-line, it was always going to be. you find comfort in the hunted and danger in the hunter; adrenaline is as familiar as the back of your hand, as an old friend, as a pair of teeth sinking into the soft spot where neck and shoulder meet. as blood rushing to the skin and pooling out squished surface.

somewhere, you want the title. you want the sharp canines, the crushing jaws and the pain they provide, you want to be the one with the knife this time. you're the psychic girl in the basement, you're the boy who sees angels, you're the shapeshifter luring men to hotel rooms -- you're 'misunderstood.' you're a monster. you're a man. you're the fbi's most wanted and old women scowl at you in the grocery store. and that ache blister, blister, blisters.

they say they'll protect you. and you rip their flesh off the bone.

you don't work with suits.