his skin is the color of the sky at sunset. he is broken into pieces. glass. it shines and reflects light with a gleaming hue of hopelessness. his pieces fit together in the most chaotic of fashions. it is beautiful. he is love. burning out from the core with a soft light. the harsh texture of his defense. skin.
there are 2 types of people, “perfect” people and “broken” people. I know I know I know! no one is perfect but hear me out. the debate here is which one is better… I say the broken people and here is why. the “perfect” person is the person that has lived there life to this point without taking any big risks without experiencing any real tragedy. I am not talking about break ups or broken heartedness I am talking about real tragedy. the “broken” people are the people that have truly experienced the evil in the world, the tragedy and the comedy in all of it. those people have dragged themselves up from the rubble, the absolute zero, the very bottom of everything, and in turn it has taught them to become more open minded, stronger, patient, empathetic, and wise beings.
his face sunk and his eyes welled up like puddles in a rainstorm. a muddy brown. he leaned his back to the wall and slide to the floor. he pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face between them. weeping. he stood and walked to the window, staring down at the street. he drew the shades. when they found him he still had the note in his hand.
there’s a beast inside
and he’s itching
to come out
clawing at my
and ripping at
I am in need of a little assistance.
be careful now. don’t step on the cracks. you wouldn’t want the street to fall away.
I just came and left.
one day we will all be free to not be.
I want to know what it would feel like for me to settle into your bones and curl up in your skin for a while.
she looked beautiful. her amber hair swayed back. I followed her shape and watched her hips. hypnotizing really. she is taking life and ruling it. a queen over her kingdom. she dances through life with a fire, a flame. with all of her beauty and all of her might, she dances. I am a moth and need my flame to dive into head first.
rat ta tat rat ta tat rat ta tat
patter pitter pitter
tick tock tick tick tock tick tock
click pop grind
“I don’t know what the fuck…”
she’s always looking at me. she stares all the time. I can’t stop and look away. that look pierces through me every time. she makes me bleed without a cut. she makes me hurt without an ache. it might just be in my head. but look at her. she’s there every time I look. see her?
I move in slow motion.