but the rust still remains.
between your fingers, in your hair, cracking across your lips and the birds you admire from your broken window.
did you ever stop to think that it made you appreciate being clean?
it's not as beautiful as silver, not as strong as titanium, not as effervescent as chrome.
it covers you head to toe and still you insist that you've moved on.
i see your true colors, and right now they're all varying shades of red.
what happened to you, what did you lose?
and what did you think i turned to?
*drugs and fucking money, i can hear the birds sing
maybe it's deliberate if it's lacking substance*
somehow that's not where i ended up but the birds are still tarnished and that honestly just makes me thankful for the temptations that gave me more than the color red
did you scrub yourself raw trying to burn the memories away?
can you still hear the birds?