Corpse.

Everybody knows a blonde haired girl with hazel eyes who doesn’t eat all the much and drinks more than she should doesn’t have much of anything to say. Anything of substance at least. Her silence is evidence of that.

How can you trust a girls who’s eyes go from green to gone in one night?

Between inhaling and exhaling I noticed you can’t just throw away mind chains as slaves choke on swallowed rage. Choking on hate as if stomaching a message like pent up revenge might make them forget hunger pains, but starved faith replacement still strangles rib cages just the same — I guess a beating heart hurts less when it hardens tears long enough to never let them know you feel like crying. Never let them know you feel like crying, right before you feel like dying, right before the blood comes out to stain…

They note you’re not angry anymore.

I don’t have enough intelligence in these weak bones propping up my body to understand why If I’m not dead already it sure as hell feels like it. A little too in romance with lonely, a corpse in a shipwrecked trance, dragging a lifeless body through the monotony of those who flow through Apollo but the muses stopped chanting and just stare.

So I remain silent out of mistrust still. I don’t belong here. how dare i pretend anything?

I want to stop writing like this. I want to create something that’s 5 minutes of so beautiful and split second of god damn. I want to be part of epiphany. I want to be part of the moment when they realize “I have to leave it all behind”

I suddenly realize that corpses can fly. so as they silently wonder why when they finally decide to ask about my truth I can reply with a smile so alive, that even the hopeless can believe in its promise.