My bones are hollow, others have bones filled with honey and feather. Im afraid of dying. But I'm not afraid of not living. Thinking is harder than being, for a fool can only be but an artist learns to think. These are all things that she said, spilling syrupy honey in my broken glass head.
She broke that glass. That night when the sky looked like painted on wax and she asked me if I was really there. We had alot of alcohol that night and the ***** felt just not quite right. I wish I drank apple juice instead of whiskey. Inhaled incense instead of ****.
Many things would look different when I looked in the mirror only to see those stiches on glass that only cause more to shatter. Not that the stiches ever really matter.
It's like she's trapped in my head. And she'll scream and dream her doubt. But all she has to do is say let me out and she's free. How hard can that be? At least stop filling up my fragile head with memories of things that happened on a beach at midnight in this dark new moon moonlight. That night those pictures flew away into a sea to never see her or me, that night is over so get out of my head, please. I'm begging you, I'll break it open and let blood and hope spill out if you'd just leave me too, please. Stop yelling things that break my feet and fights we had about things I dont eat and just please leave. I need to get out and fly as far as heaven flys then wait until the sun goodbyes and watch the banks and borders by that midnight dark new moonlight sea. With champagne flutes full on honey, no alcohol because after all I asked her to stay sober.