Dirty Black is Pure

i kind of stopped doing descriptions

scratch.

Scratch.

 

    SCRATCH.

Like you mean it.

Like you want it to last.

Like you won't be afraid to show off the scars tomorrow

when the morning light will warm your heart and dry your eyes

and make those marks seem like a sorry mistake

 

Scream.

Like it could cut you apart

Like the piercing notes you use to rend the air

could drive themselves into your skin like thumbscrews

and do all the things you want without your hands

getting dirty

 

Stare.

Into the dark

so hard you think you start to see the lights

that aren't there, just colors that don't shine or reflect

they just take up space and stain the night that was

so picture perfect until those colors fucked it up

 

Cook yourself in a warm bed

that becomes an urn

when you've stayed so long

you can't get out yourself

but be sure to break yourself

and fade away in a sunset

before it strikes you

that you will rot there

over a long dark winter

because no one is coming

because you played dead so well

they finally believed you.

 

Scream.

As if there was someone who could hear it.

 

Scratch.

You might as well.