red.
dark, bleeding, red.
her face contorted in pain
and her voice husky from screaming.
she crawled forward, towards me,
and I whimpered.
I went to her
tried to patch up the wounds,
but she pushed me away.
And so we died together,
bleeding each other's wounds.
the winter makes me so happy
the snow hanging in the trees
the cold biting at you
i love it
oh Icarus, you poor thing.
fell in love with the sun, the sky-
paid the price, i suppose.
why do we always pay the price for love?
Orpheus, lonesome poet,
lost his love because he wanted to tell her they'd made it.
In my attic I keep my heart.
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals.
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart,
and sew it into pillows,
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.