“show me how you’re different,” she screamed

from her trembling lips underneath the starlit ceiling.

and then she whispered to me, afraid of the angels

hearing her, “show me that you’re the artist who paints

pictures with the backs of his eyelids. tell me that you have

paint transfused in your blood and every time you

cut your veins, you’re really at work and you’re showing the world something

beautiful.” i promised you that the walls of my heart were 

lined with red laced bones and they resembled the birth of

balloons when air is pumped into them. my promises

are about the only thing i can guarantee that won’t shatter like

your heart. “tell me that tonight will never end and tomorrow we’ll

wake up as if the sun never rose again. promise me that 

you’ll remember this exact moment,” i heard her say as i slipped

into my own world. 

i remember the way you bit your lips after they glistened from

the five stars you grabbed from the sky. i still smell that mix of

perfume and lust as if my own father told me about this

during my bedtime stories as a child.  my arms are still imprinted

from where you placed your own as if i was allergic to your

skin and i couldn’t care less for what i was doing. i painted my

walls with the color of your eyes and memorized your breathing

pattern so that one day, maybe i can find an easiness in 

the art of breathing. “goodnight,” she whispered through my ears.
goodnight, angel of the night; your wings have grown but please,

don’t fly away.