The terrifying grind of another 6 AM slips into her shoes.
She is no one, outside of my mind.
And I'd leave her that way if I could.
she fades to black. the back end of another bus
and the pen. scribbling, ink to her skin- her life story unfolds
beginning a new day the same way yesterday ends.
tedious monotony. a life in black and white
as she closes her eyes, drifting to her lie. her written life
Truth she'll find today.
A car crash of imagination pushes her to paper.
Silent dreams are now her symphony of reality as
the pretentious routine of her mind is blinded by the beauty in her hands.
escape in the form of metaphor- and the world can hear her cry
a sullen sigh. replaced by 'once upon a time'
and her fingers plant miracles. full bloom- upon a bed of nails
as her mind dances to the beat of a broken heart
and [time.stands.still] within her fairytale
She is to me what reason is to life. -Holy-
A manifest of amusement is her palette of creation, she is not green.
She is fierce, a politic,
a bartender serving lonely martinis and heart-splitting shots of Never Clear.
Poets Crush too easy. We can't stop falling. (in love)
-
Co-written with Josh, aka
Revolting Theatre
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