Greater Than

by SleepyBoy134

Grief solidified into the Constance of a room Nico had found himself encased within since the incident. Death came for those whether they were ready or not, an inconsistent visitor incapable of grief. Days start to feel numbered, the walls closing. Enter a temptress, a stranger, an angel. Can saving a soul be a true act

In the attempt of housing yourself in the belief that heartbreak is not a grayed in room with no doors in windows, you find spaces between words you haad not disvover before. We isn't YouandMe. Us isn't Don'tLeaveICAn'tGoOnWithoutYou. It's not. It's none of that. You bite your lip so hard in the darkness of a still room that you're eyes feel like empty sockets and pools of blood slip from your skin beneath the cover of the night. Finger nails are bitten down the the skin and darkness rings sunken eyes. You smoke cigarretts. You forget sober as a word. You sit on a roof top as three a.m calling our falsities and curses, a conundrum of verses spilling from a god damn empty chest. But at the times it feels worst, the sun still rose, something forced into death continued to rise and the worldd still turned, but it mattered. Everything mattered because how could missing someone so much not. I'm holding onto the belief you force yourself alive in my memory that that freaking sun every morning, you cast yourself in my beliefs like a silver sycle moon, and as a nature I refuse to forget you like my first.

This is the words of no one. I am a child of the dead, a ghost in the light of day, a corpse in the cover of a consumptious night. Souls do not die my friend. Graveyards are non-living tombs in a house of rememberance. They are cold. Non-living. Two words. Alive, well, that's open to interpretation.