and then, there are the bad days. there is a crystal blue sky, and the wind beneath my wings. i don’t give a shit. i am tired, and apathetic, and cold.

and i don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t do anything at all. just sit there on the sidewalk, watching the rain fall. because my brain is like this sometimes; latching on to a turn of phrase like a dog with a bone, until there’s nothing left to give, and the blood smeared on my palms is always my own.

so paint me like a casket, strong mahogany; rotten on the inside, though. shade me soft, like the ruins of an empire that never could be. like shattered potential and spoiled wine, i’m your perfect little baby.

cast my statue in 24-carat gold, and mount my broken, strangled words on a silver platter if you want to. melt my bones like candles, and throw a party for a girl who doesn’t really exist. and i don’t know how much longer i can take this. but here we fucking go.