I’m neither the keyboard colored in black and white like a ying and yang symbol, or the violin that screams in soprano and begs in alto for a little thing I can’t seem to hold onto – love.
I am the drums that are sometimes a little bit too loud, beating within hearts of bodies who carry too much hurt I awaken their souls I move their skeletal bodies to the melody of my unbroken song.
You were the mime who walked around the world in complete silence with closed ears squinting eyes and a mind that thought too much about hate and death a mind that wondered what dying would be like, what it would feel like to just be – gone.
I was your magic pill. A package of four pills, and you popped the last one I had to give. With it, you swallowed a piece of my mind, tried to learn to love yourself, but couldn’t. So you took a placebo from another girl and injected her “magic”.
We were infinitely in love, your eyes caused blue butterflies to flutter within my heart, your lips made me see stars during daylight and purple sunset skies at night, and your soul made me want to fix you, unbreak you, love you.
Until our infinite love did not stay infinite and your eyes caused tears of turquoise to fall from mine. The only thing I could think of when I saw your sinister face afterwards was that sinister girl who stole you from me.
She was neither the keyboard colored in black and white like a ying and yang symbol, or the violin that screams in soprano and begs in alto for a little thing she can’t seem to hold onto – love.
No, she was the diamorphine, the 4 to 5 hour high, she was the counterfeit version of romance, the euphoria that caused addicts to scream in soprano and beg in alto, the substance that caused people to become skeletons every day of the year instead of just halloween. She created an orchestra of human violins and skeletons who moved to the melody of her broken song.