.high on cough syrup. phase two.

.the streak of color.

.he left scarlet blossoms for the bruised statue

this winter has waited too long to touch you

she'll vent hypocrisy, see how much you

let the summer burn her sorrow

a whirlwind of fate-set-in-motion stored inside a jar

and if we blur lust and emotion, that's just who we are

the darkness of a street engulfing two shadows in a car

I don't learn from mistakes, my love, mislead me and I'll follow

chain reactions are with the aftermath, I should've let you see

must it always be persistence against volatility

I am not the child I want you to perceive

an incomplete truth doesn't mean it's all for show.

that star looks lonely, coiled up in clouds, let's go for a swim

self-destructive tendencies aren't just another whim

yes, it's all planned, but I wonder which way captivates him

I'll spend a lifetime making it up to you. are. you. listening?

and I know this could be the one that destroys me

my heart throbs with anticipation, bittersweet sorrow

there's only so much of your color I can borrow

I'm dissolving

.are you waking up?

.high on cough syrup. phase one.

.i know this could be the one that destroys me.

.shadows sift in moonlit darkness with no air

curtains billow above, in a day, they'll be threadbare

I'll go out, but suffocation will follow me everywhere

and he, of all the facades for this heart, will seem hollow

a something that remains elusive and its place is empty

know it's missing. but it was yours. and know it always will be

everything begins and ends with your voice saying pretty

every pair of syllables deepens that I'm shallow

awakened in a cold sweat, burning a nonexistent fever away

no recollection of either reality, 'cause time is at fray

artificial lights on stone turned un-stone. everything's gray

but one shocking streak of life painted across a nothing

scrape myself off the floor and think about ending this non-life for the hundredth time, once more

I need to exist, if only in this one moment for you. not afterward and not before

warmth snapping at its heels is no more than porcelain should endure

a streak of red against a gray-scale spiral, and I'm falling.