crowns & tiaras

i love the way your throat feels under my hands. there's a thrumming in the air; a storm is on its way. i am on my way. i am already-
here. a girl running, running, running for her life-what she wants to believe-and her fucking chest, because jagged edges of her shattered heart have ripped open her skin, and so now she has to wear bandages, and hold herself back from-
crying. there is no room for that, so she keeps it in her eyes. a requiem to her anger, an epitome of the pain, ❝she holds oceans in her eyes, waves churning blue and grey and black and ... sad ? ❞ and so the apocalypse comes alive in her some nights: all flame, fire and massacred memories. (when will she learn that it's killing her, you ask. my dear, she already knows.)
she is  s l o w i n g .
                              i am exhausted.