Sta.sh
'what are you scared of?'
she was too pale to be held against the sun: so she leans against it until you can't see her face.
her eyes were chalk-smudges on blackboards, blurred against a backdrop of white-washed walls. her outline was all fade-out and lace, as white as winter could be.
her words were quiet like stains are, clinging to a curtain in the window. just trying to blend into the pattern, or at least not become part of it.
and when she breathes her chest swells with see-through lungs--hoping that if you focus, you'll see right through her glass skin. after all, she's just a smudge of the wrong varnish in your eyes.
she shudders, and tastes all that's hollow drip down her wrist. and today, it looks grey instead of saccharine. regret honey-fills the cracks in her over-dried lips and ice-splintered skin. inklings of every word she forgot how to say. since, of course, they never made it past dead-deaf ears anyways.
knowing you'll never notice she's crying. crying for everything she'll tell others to do without crying.
she keeps her eyes open and watches the color she envies paint every cell. bleeding to the edge of a picture. but, she knows there are faces behind those walls, and they're just waiting to watch her fall. paraphrasing every scream.
because when she leans against them, she finds she's a to-be has-been, a half-damaged knock-off. defected and under-priced goods. and when she's away, she's colorblind.
'the knife against my throat.'
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On the inside we scream, the pain a dark ichor in our vains.
The we bleed out the hurt and become... Hollow.
Thanks for the lovely comment~!
Anyone? Anyone?
An overall extraordinary piece of work that is an immediate favorite and a great eye opener, i hope to see more in the future!
~Lupa