momo hopes of never hurting sana.

momo has never stopped hurting sana.

swollen lips, teeth dragging over them once more, eyes flickering down to meet that of a gift, heart lurching forward. this time it draws blood, trickling onto the tip of her tongue and surely staining over her bottom lip. she hisses, but only draws it in to and keep her from speaking. momo turns to smile softly at her, eyes crinkling at the corners, and she feels sick, flooding thoughts of biting into hers instead.

her, her, her, uncomfortable.

god has never been kind to sana.

she wipes at it finally, back of her hand turning red and wet against soft blue veins.

purple.

sana wants to see purple on momo's neck, and her chest, and her stomach. sana wants to paint momo's heart in all pretty shades of purple, too. sana wants it all and nothing much, sana wants the entity of wilted roses.

momo insists on feeling no pain that night, lips colliding against sana's for the last time, false promises of never hurting her whispered away into bundled up sheets and sweaty skin, and she'd give anything to feel comfortable with sana.

momo hopes of never hurting sana.

momo has never stopped hurting sana.