Monday, December 19, 2011

Filled With Dying Dreams

You said that I tasted like cyanide and tears.
I wanted to ask if you had actually ever had cyanide,
But I was too scared to hear the truth.
I used to always wear red,
Because you would say it made my skin look white.
And we both knew that you were always one to like,
Lifeless things.
You gave me a small fragile flower,
And said it was our own little love plant.
But when it started to bloom,
The petals would fall off,
And even though I tried hard to glue them back on
They would just turn black.
I think I just made it worse.
And I never told you.
I told you I loved the stars,
Especially the way they shine with the moon.
You looked up without a word,
Then said that they only came at night for a reason.
When everyone was sleeping.

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