(no subject)
A pain is red and then blue at its core. Did you know that red is actually cooler than blue? You are a dull spot that rests in my diaphragm, making it hard to breathe. I can't sing anymore; in my dreams I have no voice. But you are there, taunting me with words. I reached into your firery mouth once intending to hush you up, but my fingers turned to smoke and went up with the flames, escaped into the atmosphere, clouding my thoughts. And those clouds, they're pregnant with song, their raindrops evaporate before they reach my skin, screaming in their coloratura tones, forever keeping me outside that realm of music, that realm of communication, that realm of human emotion and connection; you dance in their puddles and bathe yourself with their notes. There is always a smile in your eyes, devious almost, and always the dueling feelings of anxiety and awe. In my waking life, you perspire nothing but beauty. The image of you always sways with the gust of strangers passing by, so light is your spirit. But the dreams I have will not let me forget. They exert a doubt over my trust in you and in my eyes you are always on that thin line that separates good from bad.
I saw you dancing in a puddle once, the jubilee of a child, and you looked over your shoulder, a coy smile beckoning me but you knew I was afraid of water.
I saw you dancing in a puddle once, the jubilee of a child, and you looked over your shoulder, a coy smile beckoning me but you knew I was afraid of water.