And the very essence of my heart melts, it squeezes into whatever I call this feeling.
Breaking even into the afterglow of your skin–crawling into scars and ripping into pieces.
Places and corners I have never seen,
and do not know if I wish to see.
The smell of burnt asphalt to the sun tastes nostalgic with your head to the ground.
Hold your breath as it screams into the tips of your fingers and holds your shoulders still.
Grip your gun, hold it tight, and aim it straight
Shell pressed against a bone as your ears numb out.
Death due me part but in each breath I'm fearful of the days my presence falters in the weakness of it all.
These expectations crumble into heaviness and unreliable hands.
Scars do not heal, they carve themselves deeper and deeper.
Never letting go, kissing against your trained figure.
Your waist is so thin, "Have you been eating?"
It whispers agowilt, pretentious in its right, "You've been here before."
Ears tense, twitch, it has been stuffed black and white with static.
It etches onto you until you realize that the very trap you've set has caught under the flight of your feet
The sky begins here, where you stand–still and frozen–disgustingly unnerving.
But you refuse to let go, it crackles like black thunder of sorts,
It's invigorating pressure.
Perhaps red was the right colour of it all.
And gods, I've never liked the sound of knees hitting the ground
Yet there is not a scintilla of hope written on my face.
A call for attention was never a sin but rather a scene,
one I may not be able to unshake.
So, my hands release.
The gun has fallen and so does the heart I hold in this fragile frame.
Reverie is broken, but I'm still breathing in this eggshell white of a room.
I've killed the very essence of this heart.
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