I think back to a time where the sun kissed my lips, my cheeks as red as your lips after a game of love and be loved. My hands shake, reaching down to silence something that never should have been silenced in the first place, I can't tell if this is reality or not. If you were to cry, the world would drip from your cheeks. Women and children and dogs would stick their tongue's out and hope with the love that's wrapped in smiles that it could fix them. Needles, blood, and tears were all I had and while I looked at you, you transformed into a winged creature, your nose hooked and long. You appear and reappear like a drum beat, coming and going as you see fit. Your love fades and comes back as strong as a fingerprint in the sand. I wish I could collect pieces of your body, looks you've given me, the way your hand flutter over my back, barely touching me. I feel the flow of energy the most in those moments.
He slit his skin like he's filleting a fish with a blade he found hidden deep within the remnants of a dream I'd forgotten. There were bodies strewn over muddy earth when the levvy finally broke, and we used them as clothing to hide ourselves. My eyes bled soft reds and pinks, and you licked the blood from my eyelids as if it were a delicacy not to be forgotten.
Is this the way to feel? Am I doing it right?
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