The smell of decaying flowers is so sweet and sickening. It clogs my brain and slows my blood.
I want a thousand pictures of you strung into my head. I'll forget you soon enough.
If we lived by the moon's light, I would die drowning in acquiescing tones of silver.
The pull of screaming in the back of your throat is something I'll never forget.
I lost my new raincoat, so the streets are flooding. I couldn't care less for sunny days, and my bone marrow is steeped in rain.
Everything is split minutes and the crashing of ice and contracting pupils while I can't sleep.