Wishbone
the end.
I knew a boy once.
He was tall like a statue with cherry hair and angel kiss freckles and the kind of smile that shined through a monsoon. He seemed to glow even when dark clouds hung heavy in the sky and maybe it was because he spent his life with his head in those clouds.
He had this laugh that would ring in my ears for days like a vivid memory forever scarred across my brain, and I hung for dear life on to every word he spoke because each sentence was like modern poetry. He was a walking lyric.
For three and a half years we wasted away together in the sunset on a bed of whiskey and cocaine, our slow decay masquerading as some age-old romance. But it was only ourselves we were fooling.
I stole his sanity so he stole my heart and held it over my head like a guillotine threatening to shatter at any trembling moment. They all warned us these games were becoming deadly, the wreckage clear in our straw-grasping fingers, in the cracking of our voices, the bruises on our ribcages.
But it was the thrill of the heartache that kept us panting.
And then the guillotine fell and with an arsenal of pretty words I snapped you in half like a wishbone, your name still bitter on the tip of my tongue. I whispered in your broken ear that you were the reason I first believed in love; now you’re the reason I don’t.
He was tall like a statue with cherry hair and angel kiss freckles and the kind of smile that shined through a monsoon. He seemed to glow even when dark clouds hung heavy in the sky and maybe it was because he spent his life with his head in those clouds.
He had this laugh that would ring in my ears for days like a vivid memory forever scarred across my brain, and I hung for dear life on to every word he spoke because each sentence was like modern poetry. He was a walking lyric.
For three and a half years we wasted away together in the sunset on a bed of whiskey and cocaine, our slow decay masquerading as some age-old romance. But it was only ourselves we were fooling.
I stole his sanity so he stole my heart and held it over my head like a guillotine threatening to shatter at any trembling moment. They all warned us these games were becoming deadly, the wreckage clear in our straw-grasping fingers, in the cracking of our voices, the bruises on our ribcages.
But it was the thrill of the heartache that kept us panting.
And then the guillotine fell and with an arsenal of pretty words I snapped you in half like a wishbone, your name still bitter on the tip of my tongue. I whispered in your broken ear that you were the reason I first believed in love; now you’re the reason I don’t.
♠ ♠ ♠
i cried when i wrote this lololol