fingertips dance along the screen as black
ink splashes along pages;
igniting a fire whilst the blood seeps
into flesh like watercolors.
lips speak a string of words foreign to
deaf ears,
invading a fractured ribcage and pressing
faux kisses along the bones.
sins are just a form of dangerous euphoria,
though everything in heaven is all make believe.
harsh yet gentle like a snow storm on winter nights —
we are wet boots and blistered heels,
though also the warmth and dry clothes.
this is what it means to feel.
