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Carissa Jan 2018
Blood on the sleeve of your sweater / you smile when they ask you what's wrong / recorded laughter through scratchy speakers / lipstick on the mirror / mascara on your fingers / soak your tears into the stems of the flowers on your windowsill / you'll never let them see you cry / hands pressed to the window / you prepare for the sting of another cycle / needlepoint sunsets & bleary eyed sunrises / static silence fills the hours / & you can't help but wonder if they'll visit your grave
Carissa May 2017
I'm choking on your ianthine voice
and spitting out colours of russet lies
along with fading shades of "I love you"
that used to be a clear azuline
but paled to a dull cesious.

I'm coughing up salt water
but the waves keep slamming into my lungs
and stinging my eyes, stealing my breath.
(I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe)

My eyes are ***** paint water
and they're bleeding down my throat,
tainting everything with wasted watercolours
that never got to live up to their full potential
and as they dry on my cracked skin I-

My bones have turned brittle
after all these collisions between me and your ghost,
I can feel parts of me starting to break
and as I stare into your kaleidoscope eyes one last time I-

-I collapse into a heap of coloured glass-

— The End —