it’s just so pretty. so deep. brains splattered on canvases, beating hearts slinging blood all over the page. so smart, how you do that — kind of weird, but cool, nonetheless. how can you even think like that? why can’t i? god, it’s the suicidal ideation, isn’t it? sign me up. it’s just so pretty, you sad little thing. “oh, i heard he’s taking pills now. i mean, i’m happy for him, but what about all that extra paint?” could you write a list for me? yes, a timeline of every terrible thing that’s happened to you. i just want to understand better. what was the first birthday party you remember? oh, that’s so cute! and how many times did your mom try to **** herself before she finally got there? lovely. is this one all red because of you-know-why?
subsequently, gun-shot wounds in green houses. final breaths caught by the ***** they’re being drowned in. (oh, how sad. disappointed but not surprised, am i right? anyway, brunch. saturday. of course you can bring him along!)
what i mean to say is, stars fall from the sky and we sing a little song and wish on them.