blauerosen
Your eyes seem to speak to me, glistening with life and lies and unrequited love. And all of it is there for me to read, a story written in the patterns of stars imprinted on your irises, and I can't help thinking that I'm plucking wishes out of the sky. Overt. Your eyes give too much of you away.
Frozen. That's what we are. Calcified bones succumbing to the immobilization of ice. We're skeletons reaching out to what is endless and unknown, and in the hopes of becoming eternal, we imprison ourselves in a cage of misconceptions. We are poisoned by reality.
Clack, clack, clack. The lights flash, pulsing against a background of white-hot noise. The ladies and gentlemen come waltzing in, prepared to dance a minuet of pretending with cocktails of fantasy. Fall in love, fall out of love like picking petals on a rose. All at the director's unfailing cue.
ink used to run down the palms of my hands as I tried to keep up with how the words flowed in my head. tales were woven out of damsels in distress looking for their prince, and there I was, trying to immortalize impossible scenes. and maybe it was no surprise that the tales soon vanished into thin air.
and there she lies on the floor, watching the blood seep through her fingers. the air crackles around her, dust flying up in the breeze, and she watches as bits and pieces of herself are thrown away. there she is, withered and torn, a broken shell of the past, and maybe too many questions and doubts.
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clackloveliesairtalesfalleyesfloorwatchingbloodseepfingerscracklesdustflyingbreeze