Black lips

Even though you’re right, this hurt like a bitch.
See this is how it works---you taste something, anything, and you like it. Alot. And then some screwed up excuse for God steals it away from you. No, you haven’t finished it. Yes, it has swirls of chocolate in it. Yes, it whirls through your veins and kickstarts your heart and before you know it you are Magic. You’re rainbows and scars and Beauty and the Beast. Your walls crash around you and you saunter through the shards of glass. You don’t taste the blood.
It’s your own damn brand of heroin.

Now you see it, now you don’t.

Have you ever cut the pieces of a puzzle just to make it fit?
Knives were made for bigger things.

Like you?
Like me?
Who's 'the bigger person' here?

I don't. Makeitstop

Mosaic

“Is this real?” I whisper, tracing your veins, breathing you in.
“Is what real?” you ask, lacing your fingers through mine, watching me watch you.
“This. You. Me. Everything.”
You look at me and for a minute I’m scared –--I’m scared you’ll see through me, you’ll know that I have no shade of my own. I’m only a tangle of leftover colour, stolen colour, a beautiful mess, a Liar.
“I’m real”, you say, a smile playing havoc with your lips as you reach out to me bridging the gap between fantasy and verity.
I hold on, it's the least I can do.

Only you would call a stain a rainbow.
Only you could call me Colourblind.