Something new.
Consider this a letter to you, wind. Please stop blowing through this hole from his absence, i can see that you are too, lonely and nonpareil. i notice you are much too articulate to make this visable - a broken canvas, a broken canvas.... your not repentant for that semblance of fearfulness that comes from the dead ghosts pushing up daisies in your living room. start living, oh please... start living. one ear to hear the chant of festive tears falling down like drum beats, one ear to hear the mourning and chatter of the one that got away. And your midset says "and it was only a bullet. It was only a flower". (it was only a dead girl, it's only a dead girl). Your eyes like moths burry deep into the sheets around her in a haven of lifeless sleep, making holes in her conscience and mind, your touch is as weak as cocaine. See those stars in her eyes? Oh baby it's a knockout for sure. " this time i've won"... but you never win. Asphyxiate my breathing so it mocks the sound of crashing cars, tick tick tick tick it's a time bomb, sweetheart. Fix me around your wrist as a stop watch so you can stop watching the traffic and end up face down bloody on my floor. I've always liked it that way, all dirty and cheap, like a fucking used toy. Broken and barrowed. You're such a tease... Your slow-beating heart in my hand is such a god damned tease. I've never had such a feeble and weak creature to pitty before, so lets go so we can pump some life back into your pale skin with a tint of yellow from frequent ciggarette dances. And your addicted to it, addicted to her.
Your so addicting.
Your so addicting.