She didn't want to cry. Because tears were a sign of weakness, but crying for no reason at all was simply foolish. The stabbing, aching presence in her chest wasn't real. It's not real. It's not real. Repeat it till all other sounds fade, till you're reassured that that pain was from you imagination. Don't believe what anybody tells you. Just let me spread, until all your fury and hatred for me is boiling over the edge, explodes, splattering on surfaces and breaking things that are not meant to be broken. Break. Break. Break. He whispers, within the darkness, surrounding her subconscious until everything bright and beautiful becomes tarnished with green eyes and red blood.


I can't - I can't do this anymore... She didn't even have the strength to say that out loud in an empty room, with only herself to blame.

You've forgotten the brittle leaves and the rose sky and the shine in my smile and heart and strength. Your window-like eyes glanced over my chapped lips with raised brows and a ghost of a thought. Your silent screams didn't shake me like they did when I thought kindness was real. The melody of your whispered heartbeats didn't loosen my grip around your airways when you laid by your grave. Your skin told a story of men in black and the sun as a red explosion in the middle of the opaque sky. 


Your blood makes it so much easier. Broken blue clashed with fiery brown before sparks of silver and white took our visions away with life and a hurricane of decisions and shattered tea cups, with love and happiness ingrained at the very edge of the bottom.