tie your lips into a knot of red, crimson like that wretched thing your heart pumps through the rest of your broken-down body. pull on those leather lace-up boots, black like your father's eyes right before he snapped like a branch you were never meant to step on.
you are a grenade, a ticking time bomb that could go off at any moment, splintering yourself into a sea of jagged pieces of something once human. you are wild, you are whiskey, you are whispers in the dead of the night that soothe no one but the shaking trees and wilted flower petals stuck to the side of your face. sometimes, you are soft.
feather-light touches of the sun dance on your bare skin, like flickers of a dying candle, scented like cinnamon and that perfume your mother used to wear. now all you have is empty perfume bottles filled with your dried-up tears to remember her by.
soak up the brisk night air like the gift that it is, because at night there are only shadows and feelings - no people. at night you don't have to look at yourself, at that heart-shaped face and frozen coal eyes you can't bare to stand.
shove your fists into your pockets because we already know you are a threat - we don't need to see it. there's a storm rolled up inside of you, and we know it's only a matter of time before that weak shell of yours cracks.
you are a forest. tall and steady and feared, but one match and you're all burnt down. stop and smell the smoke.
