(no subject)

[cieli_impetuoso]

It’s Not 10:58, is it? Is it?

Cracked crystal and untoasted wine lines this pathway
And our breaths can be seen from miles in this temperature
So I'll wrap you in me, keep the frigid air at bay
With curse words and cigarettes, we'll find our way home

I’m the maker of green eyes and shivering spines
I am the sound of a nine year old
Shouting Robert frost at the top of his lungs
I am the last line of defense before a final fall

And you, you are the carpet bombs echoing
on a cold Christmas night
and you, you are the stolen sideways glances
that make the mark without the bite
and yes you, you light the sand on fire
a mirage that blinds the wayward traveler

step so softly, cover the candle, and mask an exit
be the flash grenade in the night
draw your attention, take a bow, exit stage left
and throw yourself a goddamned cast party

so while I hold the curtains as they rise
and ascend into a pitch night
drop to your knees, scream, and point
as I soar across the crowd

until that bloody realization strikes
my consciousness that I’ve lost a feather
and my lift is tainted, hopeless and voided
let me run, let me leap
let me soar, let me sing