This surgery, that sewed into me that innate doubt of adulthood, is that shutting door. The action of the door shutting, of the light struggling to pierce through to no avail, is my mind being left in a dark clarity.
Even when I moved on, so far consumed by other crushes you became a dim memory, I never truly forgot. As though when it comes to you, reason does not hold. I can count on all ten fingers and ten toes reasons to not like you, reasons to forget you but it’s so damn hard.
On this road I have walked and ran, driven and flown, the pavement acting as a side note, a detail on the way to the actual story. The real events, the memories, the excitement and life.
I have a paper heart encased in a flame resistant ribcage; no match books are getting near this one.
I slashed sunshine slivers into my skin
and the gentle light has been eclipsed by moonlight
Raised silver veins that reach across tightly stretched skin and bones
I spit thorns between
two lips
scratching into those that come too near,
who try to buy my bouquet
without realizing
what type of flower I am.
Our yin and yang, our complimentary colors,
our lock and key love that matches, in
the pouring rain, hidden in thick drops.
I crave numbness like a drug. It scratches at me, somewhere deep in my mind. It whispers to me, a seductive mantra that finds me at my weakest point.
She spun dreams out of moonlight
We were a classic tale of hourglass love; the moment our eyes met, the glass had been flipped, and we only had hours to make our mark before the final grain of sand would fall.