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
