pt2vermillion

[pt2vermillion]

the water ive been taking keeps my throat dry, the gallon was from the apothecary by the corner. my arsenic tounge,you can taste but ill have to guide your fingertips to part my lips. but even the thought of meeting your skin, the poison digests in reverse and finds a way to my eyes to the salt on my cheeks. soineverdo. i never do and it vaporates virulent gas to your nose, kills you more than it kills me.so i drink the blood made of baking soda mixed with vinegar from all that's holy, holy forever,you cant piss blood. verses memorized so i know what to say with a throat finally wet but my stomach inflates and kills itself. there was a bit of my intestine wrapped around your neck and you cry (for my sins). it doesnt have the fur of a scarf but it still warms you even with the gas silence

[pt2vermillion]

idont know if you know this but i used to pretend blue was my favorite color. to be more specific, a dark shade of blue like 'a night sky.' cliche, i know. call me the introspective type, gazing at the sky and pretending i understand the meaning of life. everyone looks up once in a while, yes, humans were always lonely trying to make stories of everything. but now i just want you and me to spend an hour or two to see a handful of stars as a handful of nothing but light. i know i knowiknowiknowi know i know youre thinking again, and im thinking again thinking of you, so lets build paper cranes out of our minds before we go back to pretending (love if you see this i love you and ill call you soon i promise)

[pt2vermillion]

i dint know if this much sleep is concerning or impresisve but atleasf you know im not a person when houre not around

[pt2vermillion]

when you tell me that youre on the move, then ill wait for you by the sea. im laying and its cold and my dnd is turned on (to push all the sand away. theyre not as smooth as you). by waiting i mean sleeping until you call me soon and only you. i hope your parents don't want me dead cus i think theyre trying make me sink (eternally to sleep). i cant walk or talk without the strings that (wraps around your fingers and) lead me back to you. your voice is a replica of my frontal lobe. youremypuppeteer. i dont know which (level of waters) state youll find me in but when you return my hoodie its going to remind me of you more than myself. its a piece of me ofapieceofyouofapieceofme. im lifeless. come back to me please?

[pt2vermillion]

she's so cute

[pt2vermillion]

lot 143, ladies and gentlemen. the auctioneer turns andturnsandturns the handle, rotating the rink atop the music box. somehow you didnt stumble. "commence at twenty francs!" youre a luxury i cant afford.

so ill be the blade that keeps your feet from touching the cold waters. the fountain pen that draws trails with white ink to wherever you glide, to create art with you on the ground that's ice canvas. just say the words and ill follow you. well become one. i need you and you need me.

i want to be the corset like its 1899 figure skating that hugs you tightly. the one to show off your frame. sweetseduction. you need to breathe but i wont let you. just so youll stay.

[pt2vermillion]

MYBGIRLFRIEND IS SO ATTRQCRIEV AND HOT AND TALENETED DSIIW WIIINNNN I WINNN

[pt2vermillion]

the mausoleum was the new Met Gala in Creedish. rotting cadaver was the latest fashion craze for the danse macabre, the rich and bored had grown tired of living models.

she sprayed herself a cloud of bittersweet from a vintage cologne bottle, her fingers tracing the plump, blue outline of her lips. a truly fine, beautiful addition for the grave.

[pt2vermillion]

warmed your shiver as my fingers travel against your skin.

i'm the sculptor, you're my creation.

this touch presses no more than gentle.

the difference between you and galatea is how i traced a bone. that's when i remind you to breathe.

let your chest rise and fall, dont let anyone make you feel less alive.

[pt2vermillion]

my name is six feet underground, a forever eclipse.

there's no difference between day and night.

so ill listen to your voice, dear,

keep counting the endless stars and tell me stories of the birds in the clouds.

or don't.

you can lay beside me, these lonely fingertips long to slip through your hair instead of grasping cold mud.