I remember once, I had this dream. I could hear cries as sounds of quiet joys. And the dust, it sang to me so sweetly—I felt like I could dance forever. I felt a burning muse type of sensation in my ink stained heart—as my petals shed, and shed. In that moment I was reminded of this boy, my first love. His name was Mike and his words were so lovely. I wonder if Mike still thinks of me. He was the first I cried poetic tears for. But that is for another time. I can see my breath now, it makes a pattern, following that of my tarnished soul. I still crave splinter flavored milkshakes, though. But I suppose we all have our secret sins. If I leave you a pen, would you write me paperless words of your poetically profound poetry? I’m ambiguous, transparent, yet motivational for a type of suicide that instead kills the dark cloud that hovers over me. Maybe it’s a sort of ordinary wonder, the thought of me craving your gracious words. I think of the beauty I sometimes let myself see, and I wonder, will the world ever learn their lessons in morbidity—will I always be that girl, not easily broken down.
This piece is written for some of my most favorite blogs on tumblr. They are amazing, beautiful writers. And I hope I’ll be able to read their words for however long they will let me. They are not in order. Never any order. I hope you all enjoy.
This is also inspired by this lovely piece.
