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KB Mar 2017
-iced coffees and knife tattoos couldn't justify the broken glass glinting off your back, so water down the orange sadness in your grey eyes and start pulling apart the summer nights' convenient secrets
- the gas station 6 minutes from home can teach you a thing or two about energy and mileage but no matter how far you go, the moon will always being its stars along to remind you of brand new ideas and bright eyes; don't blink or you'll miss a gunning thought
- with the loose thread on your hat's embroidery, stitch together 24 dandelions and swallow the ink that runs from the moments that you put you on a golden high; speeding down the highway on the road to a fresh, green burst of adrenaline on the coast is one that turned into silver
- your walk to the white laundromat down the street required a soft cold slurpee that would quench more than just your summer vibe but you picked up a medium iced hazelnut coffee instead and called it 'starting over' so your best friend would be proud of the way you handle new beginnings and stale cookies
KB Mar 2017
roses peek through the cracks in your soul, your heart is overflowing with peace but your eyes remain dark brown in the sunset, is it because your flight to italy was cancelled in the middle of your worst year or because the constellations that you kept shining in your right palm; the hand with the zigzag scar from your last rollerblading accident, were given to someone who didn't even know that thorns came with soft petals too
KB Mar 2017
staple a gun to your heart and call on the sun to melt the silver pieces into one, what i'm trying to say is put yourself back together and let the warmth radiate from your body like it used to, once i saw flowers pouring out your ribcages, now i see icicles freezing over your eyes but don't lose colour in your paints because at least when your brush hits the surface it carries something more than a gunning fresh start and less than a silver burden
KB Mar 2017
the shore washed up and fell right into your rose filled bones and all that your said was that you're changing your heart again, i dont understand why your favourite flowers are daisies but your hair smells like lemons and i guess yellow burns in your eyes, every time the sun sets to golden tones you pack your bags to run again but nighttime will come faster than that 9:07 train and you'll remember your date with the moon's craters and spray paint cans that hurt your back with the weight, except that graffiti doesn't have much weight to you anymore, paint over the scars, under the bruises, and lick your lips in the light of a streetlamp; there's a ripped up parking ticket in your back pocket & 19 ways out of that burning silver feeling that you can solve in this city by noon tomorrow
KB Mar 2017
you couldn't touch the sky with your fears but roses turned white in your cold hands, did you untuck your shirt because you were tired of formality
or because the rebel in your eyes started fires in your best friends veins so often that he took the bars from the town's jail and handed them to you to re-build into your own castles, do you think you'll be barred forever that way? the tattoo on the back of your right shoulder reads, 'patience; im going to change my heart again' but the rings in your iris tell me that there is no such thing as waiting [for you] & that you've always been chasing the sun
your wrists shake with the hype that flows through your fiery blood but all you do is smile and keep driving down the desserts of arizona so the moon cant keep up
KB Mar 2017
how many more glasses of milk did you down to clean out the stars in your eyes that never looked directly at the moon who knew your soul corner to corner, at 11:52pm your palms were trying to hold on to something that didn't want to stay, i heard the door open but only silver light came in and nothing but old vibes went out, you never lock your heart like that, the cottage windows remind me of the days we had pink & blue skies with an accent of 32 clouds for breakfast, this yurt smells like the most acidic lemons and ck2 perfume, on the 2 hour and 19 minute drive here you got lost thrice and found your way by through corner-store cookies, a plaid shirt and pens with running ink
KB Mar 2017
you tried to drown your fears in sunshine but the red thread in the corner of your oversized sweater caught on the moon's crescent instead and the rose petals that you were keeping up your sleeves fell out and onto the garden of peonies your best friend was growing on her front lawn, its not nice to constantly be running from forest green comfort but the only other option is staying where the gold is and thats something you never learned to do, yet
maps have followed you recklessly
on the roads that you've ripped through and eventually you'll find yourself climbing taller fences to be back where the purple of the last February evening wrapped your impulsive body tight, though you'll never be found how you were last left
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