I DIED IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT ☆ poet

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[glow=#000,1,400]WHO'S WEAPON IS HIS WORD, HE WILL KILL YOU WITH HIS TONGUE, O LEI, O LAI, O LORD — [abbr=tags]｡+ﾟ.[/abbr][/glow]

[div style="width: 480px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 13px;"]poets face contorted, almost as if he was feeling every emotion at once. he didn't like people worrying about him he didn't like being babied, it made him feel useless. he made a stressed noise, his body immediately seeming to become warmer and warmer- not by much, but he was certainly getting warm. "i think i preferred when you wanted me dead. you didn't worry as much.." he mumbled weakly, staring at the wall as if he wanted to cry. he did. he really did. he didn't want to think about how one day his sickness would be his untimely end- probably while he was young, too.