some days it hurts so much, i'm shrinking inside of myself,
you're like a thousand roses inside, thorns piercing my lungs
all i can taste is the thick blood, i'd be too afraid to kiss you,
worried that the taste might not go away, even if replaced by
the flavour of a fresh summer day on your soft lips.
a flower grows for every heavy breath, begging to be alright,
for every tear that you just won't let fall. the texture of
sadness which we encompass cannot be outwardly expressed
in such frail gestures. the brush of skin, the splatter of blood.
the wind through the blades of green grass, your pale pale
skin plays such a lovely contrast. but aren't you sick of all these
red skies? even sunsets need to take a break every now and then.