sorrow in shades of basil and pine brew cyclones in duo; a once upon a time confined between the cheap concrete of a motel room- the lights had their pretty eyes blindfolded. gently with a pretty tremble upon the joints of his lilac tainted fingers, turn over to the next page.
the card of the grim reaper- a classic. slightly disheveled to the eye- but zero pages left to set aflame. thus, the words the end sound brutally intimate upon the bruises on his tongue and the dainty crevices on either side of his blinded ribcage.
a dull blade- nothing a little fire can't heal. pour some ice over the skin she once devoured between her deceased gardens and poisoned butterflies that fooled around. paint faint lines of mahogany upon the daisy scented wrist- beads of glitter that resurface as though the sins he once swallowed deep into the bottom of his fractured abyss were aching for the vivid spotlight.
a fountain of candle wax and sacrificial agony, torment oozes beyond the outlines of his masterpiece; in the form of boiling blood and lingering voids. choke on the confessed consonants and molten plastic- a light thud with the contact of his shattered shoulders and the cold-numbing floors; although deafening than the melancholic melodies of the shredding of a heart, somewhat akin to it.
and death which had haunted him for nineteen years now grabs the sides of his pale face and pulls their lips together, promising to accompany him till the end of time and space.
he loved her, and she- the idea of him. and thus the people sang- a pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life.