You are my trigger, I’ve been shot. But I’m not dead, sir. (Not quite yet)
Vows empty, our promises are sinking into the well, our wishing Hell.
My knees are broken from crawling slowly back to you, every time. I twirl around beneath the moon, in the coldest blue that ever was.
It’s always been you, the shallowest hue; My endless Blue.
Blue, like my bruises. Blue, as you break me into obviously-damned pieces lying naked, on the floor.
You are too tall
whilst dropping me carelessly
into this unimaginably dark void.
It’s lonely here in this deathly-loud silence.
This silence which once was our song.
-s.m. (c) paintingAngels