It was a simplistic love, one with weak roots and a crippling stem. It was a love based on a dreary song, one that trapped glass ballerinas could dance along to in their clear prisons. Neither of us minded, though. Love was still love after all. The flower itself eventually grew into twisted briar, neither of us being able to get that song out of our heads when we saw each other. It was good for the lonely times, but not the times when you're supposed to feel whole. We should've parted back when the first bloody blossom bloomed, but indulging laziness had already carved out our paths. We became addicted to the feeling of insipid days of nothing but listening to the song and slowly dancing with each other. Our bodies became graceful, fit enough to dance the nights and days into oblivion, instead leaving behind a sense of timelessness. It was as if we were draining each other's souls away with each and every day that went past. The briar grew up our legs, through our chests, binding our arms together. We were locked in an eternal ballet of anemic love. It wasn't hatred, far from it, but rather something bleaker. The colour had drained away from the butterfly's wings, leaving behind only a flash of grey as it died without a sound. So we wasted away, dancing to that enthralling song for eternity.
YOU ARE READING
Mmhmm I'm Bored
ПоэзияThose little things that pop into your head that you can't help but write down. I suppose it could be counted as freeform poetry-ish. Cover by the exalted @FableWrites.
