The red flame matches her blood.
Except that the latter's laced with painting and ballads.
Maybe, they've been lying and lying—
'til the sun crashed and died.
Swallow them, oh girl, and dip the stars
in demonic red.
Sip the gloom, and glow and glow.
No one out there knows much better than you do.
Her veins, oh how blue, bleed in alcohol.
Drinking is better than thinking.
Her tired heart slams her mind;
A thousand nights in the blur of dark wine.
Drown your pain in the flowing red,
and dance the shit out of you
'til nothing comes straight.
No one gives a damn about you.
The world spins in the afterglow
as her trembling fingertips brush the broken bottles.
She's killing herself slowly, petal by petal.
Oh, girl, all you do is lay on the cold tiles,
And smear in the sorrow that can never heal.
The drink in your hand gets cold as you
scream death for another thousand nights.
The flame burns near your fingertips.
The world comes smaller but never close.
You count the stars for death to kiss your lips.
No one knows a hundred bruises behind the swizzling drink.
She's made of ballads laced with dripping blood.
She dies and rises in the burns of the sienna skies.
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A/N: I took a brief break from writing for not having any new ideas. Let me know what you think of this, and vote if you enjoyed this! :)
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the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
