The scar from something beautiful like a rose will never leave,
The beauty wilts and dies, as do the thorns unless still in your side,
They itch, they call, they force you to reminisce, every time it rains
there is no longer that taste on my lips, they chapped from greed, that savor could only linger for so long, backspace, backspace, control then a then control x, its reverberation now. Old shoes and new socks, seams sewn closely woven, eyes that beat, wine and walking down the street, magic and the seers leaf, heaven and all that’s beneath, I know that there is a lot of drugs but they know there is only one me, people wont. That song where you hear crying even though its grotesque pop, that window opened its self.
Salvation is in sponsorship, one dollar a day keeps the devil away, one sacrifice molded with clay, you can never judge when you refill a black cup. I hate to say this but I never wish I never met you, fire drills are a valid excuse to change topics, the snow, it’s cold but understood, people however, excused. Tears and blood connect the dots. What a lively bunch they were and so full of optimism however honesty naught.
▲
For hours, she sat with him as he shivered and slept. “Don’t die,” she whispered. “Please, Max, just don’t die.” He was the second snowman to be melting away before her eyes, only this one was different. It was a paradox. The colder he became, the more he melted.
“The Book Thief”
By Markus Zusak
