Thursday, April 19, 2012

He was seeing blue and you were seeing red, but you' were staring at the same shade of purple.
The sheets you strangled, the sheets you let in your skull through sheer eye sockets
are now in their proper place - in the bed, tucked in the sides, but dirty.
All the while you thought it belonged inside your chest, ignoring the pressure in your lungs.
His hands were around your neck. His hands. The sheets. How did you manage to breath?

He was feeling you and you were feeling him, but your senses have numbed from the silence.
The curtains you let down, curtains that deprived you of the moonshine, of sleep
are burning along with your delusions and optimism that held your shrivelled limbs together.
Black smoke. Ashes. Getting into your eyes. Don't cry yourself dry.
Your hands around your neck. Your hands. The curtains burning. Listen to your selfish breathing.


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