We were painted faces
on the memorial of
hearts, that were
crushed to rocky
shambles.
Innocent and alive
and infactuated
with the chase
and the thought of being
in love.
There was no regard for
forgotten lovers or
broken-winged doves
because, with your face in mine,
we only saw each other.
We were the sweetest
taste
in the darkest
brew,
drunk and young
and impressionable and
dependant.
We were the bullets
shot from the
same barrel,
whose handler's name was
Cupid,
and whose imprit read
'Love'.
I am the one who
hit the ground
first.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
We were painted faces
on the memorial of
hearts, that were
crushed to rocky
shambles.
Innocent and alive
and infactuated
with the chase
and the thought of being
in love.
There was no regard for
forgotten lovers or
broken-winged doves
because, with your face in mine,
we only saw each other.
We were the sweetest
taste
in the darkest
brew,
drunk and young
and impressionable and
dependant.
We were the bullets
shot from the
same barrel,
whose handler's name was
Cupid,
and whose imprit read
'Love'.
I am the one who
hit the ground
first.
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