some sort of whimsical dream that fluttered in your chest like star dust and solar flares that shot ideas of revolutionary planets and celestial beings into your corroded and muddied brain, filling your thoughts will a god complex and black holes. you were drunk on the idea of unfulfilled dreams and wasted promises. you were high off the taste of glass and gasoline. god, babe, the way you look in that lighting makes your face look so gaunt and hollow and your teeth were stained with wine and coffee and cigarettes and your nails were bitten and your body was bruised in awkward places. you were utterly infatuated by the stars disinterest in you and their general passive aggressive way of complimenting you.
