Friday, August 4

he fell again [slowmotion, snowflake]

for every feather dancing within me, he explodes like fireworks at each kiss he places on my eyelashes. his are longer, shadowing the mossy eyes. and i’m afraid that’s how i will remember them - darker than reality, as closed as they will end.

i was at his house, the running water burning his light skin in the distance, when i found him in his father’s eyes – the cracked glass drawing a line over the lips.
i didn’t get it when he talked about his dad for the first time – it was a winter night and i couldn’t feel his cold touch on my tights anymore, the candles were long burnt out and i was facing the damp stains in the ceiling instead of him. but then, slowly, fall after fall, i learned about the monster lingering on his sighs, the evil printed in his soul at birth.
now i can also find him embracing the concrete. 
but just like his dad, there’s only a frame to hold him           still.

he is natural catastrophes, but i have always been all about murdering the little that was left. and it was when i started looking back
everytime that we parted ways, that i realized
you are how i learned to fear death.

he fell again [slowmotion, my snowflake]
he’s so delicate, nobody would guess he carries a time-bomb in his chest.

No comments:

past present
Bitter Coffee &
Japanese Cigarettes

"birds scream at the top of their lungs
in horrified hellish rage
every morning at daybreak
to warn us all of the truth,
but sadly we don't speak bird"

(coffee) (cigarette)