A ditch maybe, a graveyard. Where we could bury all the memories we lost. With the cold hard wind slapping our cheeks.
You should warn them. Destruction isn't all poison and blood, is it? You'll hide yourself behind eyes of ember and sea waves. You'll flash sugary teeth and wild roses. It's complicated, you'll see. You'll carry graveyards within your spine till it can't handle the weight and you'll fall down. You'll bleed ink. It's complicated, you aren't dead. You are glass shattered into little diamonds. Your mind will reach out to skyscrapers and your salty heart will burst into a supernova. You'll tug at the tin foil moon with hands of crystal. It's complicated, it's the it? You are skin and neon bones plastered with love. You'll be concrete. Rock cold, stone hard. It's complicated. It will be complicated. You'll be okay. You'll be complicated, but you'll heal.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
