HOME | DD

Description
it starts when the clouds break his head and the waves crush his legs. his tears drip on my thigh and the colour of sleep floods my skull. the sound makes me afraid to open my eyes.

the next thing I know I'm naked, holding dry leaves to my chest. this is the thing to do when the boy with skin as frail as paper isn't here to touch me with his blue hands.

I wouldn't mind his lips in my hair if my hair twirled and created pictures of his skin to trace over. I wouldn't mind the wind blowing me through tree branches, through the arms of my lover. I wouldn't mind shivering if it meant holding his hand in the rain. I wouldn't mind my hands tugging on his jacket or my nervous lips tugging on his quivered lips- I just want one earphone to be in his ear and the other one to be in mine.

I wake up with both my arms broken and a decision to completely stop talking to anything with limbs, anything with teeth.

I wake up tied down to the pavement with a dream lingering in my brain, a dream about the only chance I ever had face-to-face, alone with my lover; a dream about my first breath in hours after I had been drowning for years; a dream about a doctor telling me I sleep too much, and I tell him sleep is the only way for me to find my way back to my lover's arms.

I wake up choking on ashes, dust, time; with thicker blood and bruises more blue.

I wake up, coughing up colours from another human's brain.

I wake up, floating in a muddy river with my lover swimming with me.

I wake up, realizing that when I'm afraid, I cannot feel my hands.

I wake up with him holding my hand, but our eyes are still closed because he's telling me,

"if there's nothing to see, then there's nothing to be frightened of."

Description
it starts when the clouds break his head and the waves crush his legs. his tears drip on my thigh and the colour of sleep floods my skull. the sound makes me afraid to open my eyes.

the next thing I know I'm naked, holding dry leaves to my chest. this is the thing to do when the boy with skin as frail as paper isn't here to touch me with his blue hands.

I wouldn't mind his lips in my hair if my hair twirled and created pictures of his skin to trace over. I wouldn't mind the wind blowing me through tree branches, through the arms of my lover. I wouldn't mind shivering if it meant holding his hand in the rain. I wouldn't mind my hands tugging on his jacket or my nervous lips tugging on his quivered lips- I just want one earphone to be in his ear and the other one to be in mine.

I wake up with both my arms broken and a decision to completely stop talking to anything with limbs, anything with teeth.

I wake up tied down to the pavement with a dream lingering in my brain, a dream about the only chance I ever had face-to-face, alone with my lover; a dream about my first breath in hours after I had been drowning for years; a dream about a doctor telling me I sleep too much, and I tell him sleep is the only way for me to find my way back to my lover's arms.

I wake up choking on ashes, dust, time; with thicker blood and bruises more blue.

I wake up, coughing up colours from another human's brain.

I wake up, floating in a muddy river with my lover swimming with me.

I wake up, realizing that when I'm afraid, I cannot feel my hands.

I wake up with him holding my hand, but our eyes are still closed because he's telling me,

"if there's nothing to see, then there's nothing to be frightened of."