Pale skin
Darling your flesh is painted crimson, a monochromic version of the sky that overhangs our dirty bones. My answer to you, to the last thing you ever said to me, is of course. Of course I cried for you, I cried for hours over the loss of your body against mine. But the salt in my blood felt so heavy, and my lungs felt so god damn light, I thought I would fly up to the world above me, and hit my ribs against the rim of the clouds leaking violet onto my pale skin. I could feel the weight of the world upon my back, I could feel the sunflower fields sprouting beneath my feet. Darling my bones they ache with laughter, they shake with the common fear of never touching the world again. I can hear the the sky dripping down my back, I can feel it burning me from the inside out. But I will not tell it to stop, because my soul needs to write. And I will write on, untill my words set fire to the world inside my chest, and my lungs paint the world they feel across your crippling mouth.
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