Another urn filled with ash.
Spirit steamed, left with trash.

How did that one leave so fast?
Is it worth trying to be the last?

Up turned lives for 6 weeks.
Raw, reddened salty cheeks.

Full, half then empty glass.
Oh, what a beautiful glass!

How the light breaks through it
Scattered rainbows, raised spirit.

Cheers!

you said you prefer red over blue
so i cut open my veins and showed them to you
you said you preferred the night sky over the burning sun
so i painted myself dark and prayed that it would be enough
you said that you only liked girls who picked at the earth
so i tore the petals off flowers and the leaves off of trees
you said you liked girls who spoke harsh words
so i spoke only words that would cut like glass
then, out of no where, you said you preferred blue over red
and i found myself dead

he still doesn't realize
that beauty has a price

he plucks roses and
wonders why they wither
when he's never learnt
to check their roots.

with thorns between his lips,
he speaks softly about
the way love has eluded
him over the years.

his palms like written verse,
scarred and coarse, petals
falling delicately out of
time from his fingertips.

he sees beauty but he
does not see underneath

he has always been
one to see the flames
but never feel the heat.

his darkness became
tainted by my red

i burst like the sunrise
on the canvas of his skin,
raw and hot, red, red, red

i set flame to the somber
blues we'd once painted
our skin deep with.

kissing the echoes of
our past, but always
pulling away too soon.

i was too red, too vibrant.

he didn't like the taste
i left on his tongue
it was bitter like him,
it stung of the past he'd
tried to bury on my lips

my skin would ash
but he'd miss the flames.
my pulse would gallop
and intrude like
summer into his veins.