Her mind wandered far into the universe. The wind took her soul.
Graceful as it seemed, he was gentle today.
So swift she danced upon his tongue. She felt his story go through her.
His words were like a newspaper crushed into the pavement on her driveway.
A storm that kept repeating itself. Never letting his words form a crucial sentence.
The words were mangled and so was she.
He was tortured and so was she. They fought to fight.
And a violin desperately played there music in the silence that grew darker.
His cracked skull was stitched with a piece of her red hair.
Her heart was beating today. And his mind was running away.
The story finally slid in a milkshake mudslide.
Bruised and crushed; his mixed with her’s.
And she wanted a masterpiece to tell her what was wrong with this picture.
A tortured soul swung in outer space with a perfectly perfect soul.
Her eyes pressed closed and held there as she breathed in a rose.
The petals were silky and smooth as it went through her.
Her mind went from free to a quick twinge of pain.
A thorn, and just one at that, had grazed her lips.
The Black Cherry tasted sweet to her. She quickly slipped away.
Addicted and scared. The night was young.
But it was bound to grow older.
She ran just like his mind fled that night.
Control was lost and her heart had quietly stopped.
The scars had comeback.
Ozzing from her eyes were memories that were once burned.