"But darling," he whispered, at 12:34 "you are dangerously beautiful, someone not everyone knows how to love." And as his words flooded through my mind I looked into his eyes and read that there was no reason to be lost as the clock ticked 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 times. I laughed and he looked at me like I was crazy. Most my lovers do. And that's partially why they love me and party why they leave.
Because I will sing you a song, if you scream it back at me.
But this is not a love poem.
And he was beautifully unforgiving, becoming the 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 bars that once restrained his youthful soul, for he was never free after that.
Chains consisting of metal melted from every punch thrown behind scared eyes of boys and girls with cigarettes dangling from their mouths and he hit me faster than a runaway train with eyes carrying more than they should, and as 2, 3, 4 hours passed I took another hit saying “here’s to the conclusions we can’t escape.” His hand left a mark darker than my eyeliner across my face as we spent the night painting away our sadness by splashing bright colors across our souls.