Promies, never to, The premise of us to part. Should I ever leave you, Let being be dashed- Against black canvas. Let blood be A medium of art.
These shackled hands, Consequence of circumstance And everything I have entailed. Perchance, happenstance- That which we have lived And all that was not availed. The fog of brokenness, and ache of loneliness.
~ Setting out in the leaf boat. What can possibly remain? Fruit of the wild rose? Hypnotica? These little fictions: petal and stem —maintenance drugs, turning strangers into friends and friends into customers. The only unforgivable thing: snow catches on her eyelashes and bliss is unaware. ~
A million white balloons cover the clouds they hide the sunrise away from her eyes we’ve breathed nine hundred thousand and ninety-nine lies one among the many hides in the cries one as pure as any among the heavy on high for one day they'll turn flip like an urn full of tears and pour down like a crying sky