‹ Prequel: I Do Not Fall For Boys
I've Got A Mosaic Heart
Strip the paint, paint it pretty
BAM’S POV
Every get that feeling that you can’t go back...I mean, obviously you can never go back but I mean REALLY never go back.
I looked down at my hands, covered in blood...covered in Ville’s blood. We’re a Romeo and Juliet romance...minus the romance. I lurched forward and barfed. His blood on my hands – I’m a murder, he’s not dead but I still murdered him in a twisted kind of way. I felt sickened by myself, I’m a monster, an animal.
I watched the red rinse of blood swirl down the plughole – swirling like an artwork...then, in the mirror, I saw one of Ville’s paintings hanging.
I turned and faced it. He hated that thing up there. I remember we’d wrestled on the ground over it ending in laughter and me getting my own way and the painting on the wall. A smile danced on my face then I turned back to wipe the water from my hands and saw the watery blood lining the sink and the smile left faster than wee man in a gust of wind.
Everything in this damn house reminded me of Ville in some way or another. The half-drunk beer on the counter, the black jacket thrown on the ground, empty box of cigarettes... scrawled black pen on scrunched paper.
I bent down and picked it up. I easily recognized it as Ville’s loopy, messy handwriting. The smudged black ink read:
Chorus:
Love me, mend me, make me beautiful like you,
Cause we’re all just mosaic hearts in this world,
Waiting for an artist to turn us into something amazing,
Verse 1:
You’re my artist,
You’re my everything,
My heart’s all yours,
Take it if you want,
It’s broken and,
It’s falling apart,
But you could make it something,
Make me something...
[to chorus]
My hand was shaking so much it became difficult to read the last lines. What had I done? More importantly, what was I going to do?
---------------------------------------------------
Lol, in reguards to the "lovely song"
=cough, cough=in the story i wrote it
lmfao i never claimed in any way to
be a poet XD
------------------------------------------------
Every get that feeling that you can’t go back...I mean, obviously you can never go back but I mean REALLY never go back.
I looked down at my hands, covered in blood...covered in Ville’s blood. We’re a Romeo and Juliet romance...minus the romance. I lurched forward and barfed. His blood on my hands – I’m a murder, he’s not dead but I still murdered him in a twisted kind of way. I felt sickened by myself, I’m a monster, an animal.
I watched the red rinse of blood swirl down the plughole – swirling like an artwork...then, in the mirror, I saw one of Ville’s paintings hanging.
I turned and faced it. He hated that thing up there. I remember we’d wrestled on the ground over it ending in laughter and me getting my own way and the painting on the wall. A smile danced on my face then I turned back to wipe the water from my hands and saw the watery blood lining the sink and the smile left faster than wee man in a gust of wind.
Everything in this damn house reminded me of Ville in some way or another. The half-drunk beer on the counter, the black jacket thrown on the ground, empty box of cigarettes... scrawled black pen on scrunched paper.
I bent down and picked it up. I easily recognized it as Ville’s loopy, messy handwriting. The smudged black ink read:
Chorus:
Love me, mend me, make me beautiful like you,
Cause we’re all just mosaic hearts in this world,
Waiting for an artist to turn us into something amazing,
Verse 1:
You’re my artist,
You’re my everything,
My heart’s all yours,
Take it if you want,
It’s broken and,
It’s falling apart,
But you could make it something,
Make me something...
[to chorus]
My hand was shaking so much it became difficult to read the last lines. What had I done? More importantly, what was I going to do?
---------------------------------------------------
Lol, in reguards to the "lovely song"
=cough, cough=in the story i wrote it
lmfao i never claimed in any way to
be a poet XD
------------------------------------------------