i'm hanging starless from the sky; bloodshot eyes and a broken smile
The sun peeks out from the shadows, my figure looming from the cold December streets. The shirt hangs limply to my small form and I'm rubbing my hands together just to get some fucking warmth.
The scars on my hips start to bleed, cracking open from the pressure of the wind, and I wipe the eyeliner off my eyes, tears spilling into another poem I can't seem to get out. The old middle-age man heads me a fifty, and I'm biting my lip trying not to scream, I'm trembling enough to stay alive for one night, I think. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Sometimes I wonder, is there such a thing as love?" I'm shivering, goose bumps on my skin, and my fingers are pouring out another over-rated love song to play on my guitar, and oh, the string broke again.
"Darling, that's the most fucking cliché question ever, and ironic, considering what you do."