White burn
I think I'm dumb
9, 2, 3am there'a knock on the door and a hole in your heart and you're heavyheavyhevay as you answer the door to a cold strung morning.
He's wreathed in pale clothes and washed out to the heavens and you could blink and mistake him for air but he pushes forwards and he takes your hand and he says;
"I think I,"
he takes a breath and you take his sorrow. His hands are cold and his lips are chapped and your skin stands up at the freezing air that could be him or could be winter. You're not sure.
"I think I want to die."
He's wreathed in pale clothes and washed out to the heavens and you could blink and mistake him for air but he pushes forwards and he takes your hand and he says;
"I think I,"
he takes a breath and you take his sorrow. His hands are cold and his lips are chapped and your skin stands up at the freezing air that could be him or could be winter. You're not sure.
"I think I want to die."