When the needle pierces your vulnerable flesh You scream.
There's no denying that. No, I don't mean that
you have to scream out so it's heard wide and far,
but your heart screams deep inside. Your heart. It screams.
...and you hear it even though you're clearly deaf.
Her lipstick tastes
like raw sugar and I can smell
her heavily(or was it heavenly?) scented perfume.
It smelled sharp like rust, like blood. There's no
comparing it to a crimson rose, no comparing it
to the lust in your eyes when I bite your skin.
Is it too silent? Because I can hear your hair pin
fall down to the polished ground as I run my
spider hands through your black strands.
I see blood staining your lips. Was, perhaps,
our love too intense and maybe during a fraction
of a second(even less, actually) of the perhaps
endless first kiss my brilliant(dazzling, too)
teeth scraped across your lips like a
porcelain blade to cause that simple paper cut?
Knife cut, technically
speaking. Or teeth cut.
Who knows. (Who cares.)
Am I the winter wind
that cuts across you,
toning your defined cheeks an accented pink blush?
You're staring at me with those azure globes and
I gaze back with simple admiration and respect.
What can I say? You're beautiful.
Morphine kisses, sweetie.
into an infinite number of
glass shards when I saw you that night...
I was scarred forever,
but you perhaps even more.
You were sitting in a black bathtub filled to the
brim with black water. Crimson rose petals were
everywhere – in the water, in your hair, on the floor.
It smelled like blood, like a deadly poison. Rivers of
ink ran swiftly down your cheeks, a powerful contrast
to your pale, hollowed cheeks. I always told you that
your eyes looked perfectly gorgeous even without
those heavy dabs of mascara. But you didn't listen.
You refused to take my word and kept using. What for,
I want to scream at you. To lure others? Yes, I'll admit
that many did fall to seductiveness, your beauty, your
brilliant mascara eyes. Look at you now, you're crying,
your tears stained black with poison and chemical, and
you don't have anyone.
Zombie hands are
playing piano in the distance.
It's a bittersweet music, but it's complimenting the
scene I see before my eyes. Your mouth closes
around a black cloth and your skeleton fingers
clutch desperately a white flag. My apologies,
you can't surrender now. There is no more sympathy,
mercy, apology, pity left in my burned heart.
Good night, my lost love.