felixishomicidal

come on baby, just one more time we've got time for a quick one shot to the moon and back like that song baby don't you remember how that voice used to make us feel like we've got time baby, lets give it another try we've got time baby we've got time but darling there's no time darling for dreaming or boozing when all we've been doing is losing out not moving up like we used to there's no time darling for fun and games and thinking of that 'good life' shit darling there's no time for anything but working and working darling there's no time but baby, baby hear me out we'll always have time we'll always have time for each other we'll always b

There's a dangerous lack that swallows my city, inhales it and sticks like a suction cup, leaves its mark on everything, dirty footprints, grubby fingers, smeary mouth. It follows when I rub at the back of my head. Do my hands swipe through it (like smoke)? Do my eyes see through it (like air) when I turn? I taste it, bitter, and sour, and sickenly sweet. Cloying, cloves gone bad, cigars, yes, bitter, bitter, that poisonous way. "You've got two out of three," he says, the door closing, a tendril reaching for him in the air. Two out of three, when the lack is the third that covers my mouth and slips down my throat and

i She thrashed, horribly tangled in the net of he who had fallen into the sea. As she caught him, breathed life through his lips, cradled him toward the moon, the breezes of the ocean sang a melody of mourning. Dawn found him on the beach, a supposed dreamer. ii She curled around herself. No number of pearls could slow the river of tears that mingled salt to salt with the ocean while she sang haunted songs for the color of his eyes. The tide grew with her longing, but could only lap at his toes as he stood on the shore and searched for a kingdom under the sea. iii She traded her voice for legs and was silent. The sea