Status: Done.
Remember?
Remember.
She could tell you she loves you, she could. She could even use her last breath to do so.
She could be yours. She could be your anything.
She could be everything.
But she's nothing.
She spun stories of heaven and cotton candy clouds. But she forgot to speak of the men with ashen beards and death alive in their eyes. She told you of the golden gates but she forgot to tell you of the lies you must first repeat. She forgot to mention that nothing is forever.
Nothing is perfect.
Her lips speak words of sugar and syrup, her thighs say otherwise. Her heart beats, but her bones say otherwise.
Her heart shipwrecked wet; her mouth skeleton dry.
She was made of arsenic and lace; a beautiful forest fire ready to ignite.
The dusts of her past howl in her irises. There is no going back.
You cannot return now.
Rain falls slowly coating the ring of flowers in her hair. She is grass and rain and petals. She is beauty.
She is innocent.
She is a fucking liar.
She tells a wonderful story. She always has.
She dresses up as someone else; she wears a golden cross around her neck.
She tells of greenery and angels, but she leaves out the thick grey clouds. She leaves out the destruction that almost always follows. Her tales are filled with beauty, but they taste of hate.
She licks her lips.
Her hands are chapped and bleeding from the days she does nothing but explore the corners of her mind. It is dark there; the kind of dark that no single candle can distinguish. The kind of dark that not even the moon can remember.
Her words are bitten into shards; she swallows and winces as they go down. Her windpipe is a rose bush. She screams in red and pink and purple. She splatters you with bruises. The only language she speaks is pain. Her whispers are broken bones.
Run.
Run faster than your demons, run faster than your thoughts.
Run so fast that nothing can touch you.
Lead with your finger tips and feel with your lips. Remember that syllables burn and anything spoken with a fist is not heard.
Remember that nothing is definite; nothing is for sure.
Remember that the walls can always crumble, revealing a sunset.
Remember the way her hair smells, and the way her lips taste when they are not spitting ink. Remember how well her fingers lace into yours and how her memory speaks in hope.
Remember how you fell in love.
Remember?
She could be yours. She could be your anything.
She could be everything.
But she's nothing.
She spun stories of heaven and cotton candy clouds. But she forgot to speak of the men with ashen beards and death alive in their eyes. She told you of the golden gates but she forgot to tell you of the lies you must first repeat. She forgot to mention that nothing is forever.
Nothing is perfect.
Her lips speak words of sugar and syrup, her thighs say otherwise. Her heart beats, but her bones say otherwise.
Her heart shipwrecked wet; her mouth skeleton dry.
She was made of arsenic and lace; a beautiful forest fire ready to ignite.
The dusts of her past howl in her irises. There is no going back.
You cannot return now.
Rain falls slowly coating the ring of flowers in her hair. She is grass and rain and petals. She is beauty.
She is innocent.
She is a fucking liar.
She tells a wonderful story. She always has.
She dresses up as someone else; she wears a golden cross around her neck.
She tells of greenery and angels, but she leaves out the thick grey clouds. She leaves out the destruction that almost always follows. Her tales are filled with beauty, but they taste of hate.
She licks her lips.
Her hands are chapped and bleeding from the days she does nothing but explore the corners of her mind. It is dark there; the kind of dark that no single candle can distinguish. The kind of dark that not even the moon can remember.
Her words are bitten into shards; she swallows and winces as they go down. Her windpipe is a rose bush. She screams in red and pink and purple. She splatters you with bruises. The only language she speaks is pain. Her whispers are broken bones.
Run.
Run faster than your demons, run faster than your thoughts.
Run so fast that nothing can touch you.
Lead with your finger tips and feel with your lips. Remember that syllables burn and anything spoken with a fist is not heard.
Remember that nothing is definite; nothing is for sure.
Remember that the walls can always crumble, revealing a sunset.
Remember the way her hair smells, and the way her lips taste when they are not spitting ink. Remember how well her fingers lace into yours and how her memory speaks in hope.
Remember how you fell in love.
Remember?