A/N This rampaging plot bunny smacked me in the face while I was working on the next chapter of Once Bitten Twice Shy. You all have catonspeed for inspiring me. She is magical in my mind like shrooms and candy, and rum latte's. Anyway. This is all that there is. There will be no more. It is exactly 1000 words long, which was a strange coincidence, lol. But sort of perfect. It is the first EdwardxBella fic I have ever written, though Bella really isn't there. It is also the first fic to contain no swear words.

Which is weird. I offer no explanation for it, read into it what you will.

Oh. And obviously, I do not own Twilight. Or anything twilightish. Except the books. I bought those.


Words. Dripping with intent, like acid, from the mouths of strangers. From the mouths of lovers as you kiss them, as you lick at their lips, as if to consume the words before they can be said. Lies. Truths. Social necessities that you'd rather not hear. Hellos. Good byes. You kiss to consume them, before they consume you.

There are things we say, cruel lines delivered that cut deeper the knives can. Vicious lies spat and worse, even more viscous truths. Eyes fluttering with excitement, knowing we will hurt, crush, break walls and hearts, slinging words like darts, one after another till we hit our mark. Adrenalin rushes through us like a drug, for some hurt can only be soothed at the pain of another. Misery may love company, but hurt just loves hurt. Pain is a balm to many, when it is not their own. I am one of those people.

We are scarred with invisible lines, cuts and gashes, some still bleeding. Bleeding the pain we bare like a chasm of truth, oozing. They are invisible, but can be seen. Can be picked at, like scabs ripped open, old hurt renewed. Can bleed you dry to the bone, and then break you. Sticks and stones. Words can hurt.

I've watched the suffering of others through the glass, the proverbial window that is the world. I have seen through the eyes of others as they cut down their peers with spilled secrets, and shared lies. Tearing chunks from the flesh with their teeth as they speak, cutting, cutting, cutting deeper, till the bone is exposed, and they will pick at it, pick it clean and raw, before the insects come to infest you. Because some words stay with you, a tattoo on your heart, forever etched in black, an echo in your mind that never ends.

Petty. We are petty. Like crows or vultures, circling, swooping, sinking long, bloody talons into the flesh of the weak. You are weak, I have seen it. You will shake and shiver, denying the truth. The twisted, warped, cruel, vicious, delicious truth. Or, perhaps, the skeleton of truth. You will hear what we tell you, you will hear the words, let them sink into you, burn into you, scar into you, till you breath them. They smell of sulphur, taste of ash, and they consume you. Lies wrapped in bows, with pretty tags that read 'truth' .

You believe.

And I pity you.

I am no better. I am a vulture. I am a crow. I am a twisted, warped, cruel, vicious skeleton of the truth. I am a liar. I lie. To you. I lie to you every day. And you believe the bows and tags, the skeleton of truth. I do not love you. But your pretty when you smile, and I love that.

I plucked you from a sea of smiles, a sea of lying voices. You lie, but I do not hear it. I do not know the lie, and I love that. A strange thing to love, I know. You lie. You are human after all, and such faults are apart of you as are your brown eyes. I love your brown eyes. But I do not love you.

It is dissection, I know this. Like surgery, I am cutting you up. I wish that I could cut away the things that I do not love and replace them with something better, something more. You are not enough to keep me. I grow bored. It is wrong. I have cut you to pieces, different parts to love. I love your eyes. I love your smile. I love your blush, the rush of warm blood laced with emotion and thought I cannot read. I love your warmth against me, and the spiderweb of blue veins that glow beneath the moon-colored surface of your skin. I love your scent, we know this, like flowers and fog. Wet, warm, and strangely floral.

But I do not love your lack of temperance. Your lack of restraint. I do not love your silence. I do not love your left incisor, and the way it overlaps its neighbor, a screaming flaw when you speak. I do not love the scar above your un-plucked eyebrow. I do not love your imperfections. I am a monster. I am a liar. I do not love you.

There are lies in your eyes. Pretty brown eyes, laced with lashes like crashing waves, that reach out across your flushed cheeks like the legs of a spider. Dark against your skin. Wet because you are crying. Wet because for once, I am not lying.

I sling words like knives, watching each one sink into you, cut you open one by one, and I can see the ache as it fills you. It is truth that does you in, brings you crashing to your knees on the dirty forest floor. Control yourself. You make me sick. I've no room for weakness. You are weakness. You are not my weakness.

You cry, slick, wet trails sliding slowly down your blotchy cheeks. I hate it when you cry, it's ugly, but I am riveted by your tears. Want to lick them from your face, that is truth. But the gesture seemed crude, so I restrain myself. I told you I didn't love you in so many words. And you believed me, without a blink of an eye.

Did you know when I was lying all those times before? Did those wide brown eyes see the lie on my face? I think you did, from the way your lip quivers, weighted down with truths of your own. You lie. You lie when you beg me not to leave you. You lie when you beg me to stay. You are a liar. I am a liar. Do you know what you want? I don't know what I want. But I do know one thing, if nothing else. This.

I do not want you.