paraphernalia

tin man

he's a rich bastard who drives muscle cars at three in the morning, taking stars from the sky and letting them melt in his hands like heavy snowflakes. he's a fucking glutton who tastes too many nebulas and galaxies and spends too much time memorizing the bodies of girls, tracing the dips of their breasts like constellations, keeping track of them with every move they make. he's seen dew on lips and foreheads and hands, sweeter than stevia leaves bathing under moonlight on a summer solstice, he's touched black holes and displaced them and taken their essence down his esophagus and into the linings of his liver. he met a girl who had a face softer than moon sand but hands heavier than his(and he's sinned a lot). she let out small sighs when she burrowed her head into his neck while he took out his flask, and then she disappeared. he wondered if she was the only girl he ever truly loved. after wasting away his time with trips to a pinball machine with his fingers crushed into his pockets(there was too much shit in there, and it didn't help that they were small), he found a boy with eyes that said too much and got wet quickly whenever he talked about his mother.

"sensitive topic?" rich bastard asked.

"fuck you," wet eyes answered.

together they tasted jupiter's skies and bit into their hard centres with fervour, letting the acid sting the back of their tongues and the orange tint their cheeks with false youth. they listened to pluto's longings and broke neptune with their incisors, letting her hard edges scrape their gums and tinge their blood with blues and reds. they sailed into dilapidated crusts, hand to hand, perhaps even heart to heart. it all ended for rich bastard after wet eyes died(a car accident), and eventually even he felt enough pain to wither away too.

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the last part was inspired by cherrybombs- 's poetry book, luna(which is absolutely amazing and one of the best books I've read on this site)