Purple clouds are helmets filled with endless,
poisonous gasses the masses,
a chorus she's soarin' she,
doesn't nod her head to the beat ; purple clouds
the sounds, like whipped cream stopping the scream on her tongue, she likes the the taste but she spits it out, her mouth deserves better things,
she sings her pain, the rain brings life to the trees, the seas she's apart of the earth the curse,
of being so close to earthquakes, she shakes she can't breathe oxygen leaves her leaves for the other humans;
the ruins of her are heavy she can't move the cycle can't be rearranged into a straight line the time starts at midnight it ends in her dreams, she screams at 4. a.m.;
she's been wounded
classical music plays into nonexistence
but she wakes up
struggling to breathe, a scene from a year ago or from the night before, jolting her cells, the smell is burning flesh
but she wakes up,
the drool stains on her cheeks are imperfections from reflections in her nightly wars ,
the door is never open they jammed the keys down her throat she's choking
but she wakes up
and luck could never be so beautifully inconsiderate;
but she breathes
