In your paper mascara. The absence of hearts and stars
To remain lost in the twilight, the trails
Tracing the sky where he whispered.
"There is no ink to line your heart"
We followed the glitter until we reached the cemetery.
Dancing among the dead. Your dressed in bleeding stars.
The dead leaves came with the dying wind to collect,
our lives.
But how lovely your twisting lips can be. How fucking tragic the words
spiral into.
Even the insects disagree with her poison.
But we leave all to wither behind us.
And all the colors upon our heartache will fade
a w a y
 
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