Broken Stars; almost (1,2,3)
Help me, because I'm breaking down..
You almost make me smile.
(Almost.)
She feels those calloused fingers on her paling face. (1,2,3) She's still pushing, pushing on. Stronger than this. There is something trickling awful-slow down the side of her face. She almost smiles past the pain. (Almost.) Veins still pumping. (1,2,3) And yeah, yeah, yeah, she's still pushing.
This girl has seen love.
It is bloody. (She saw the claws coming down, of course. She didn't fight it.) And she almost smiles. He is safe. (Almost.) But, for now, all she knows is pain, pain, pain and bullets whistling through deathly still air. (How ironic.) She almost laughs in that deathly still air, but it just hurts so damn bad, Vinnie. And it's grinding stones against the inside of her skull.
Love is awful, that's what it is, she decides, tender hands trying—aching—just to move. (Pick up a sharp star and it'll be okay.) Crimson drips from her finger tips. (1,2,3) She's still pushing, Valentine. And why not, huh? Why shouldn't she try?
There is a whimper. Who's that? She almost snickers. It's her, of course. (She's pathetic.)
(1,2,3-1,2,3) death waltz on the underside of her temples.
Yeah, that's it… Love is her death…
Horrible and tempting and pushing…
Then pauses, feeling the soft brushing of… (her words are slipping.) Or is it the kisses that he's trailing up the side of her neck?
Kiss it better. Save me.
She's breaking down.
And she almost smiles when the (1,2,3) slows to a stop.
...almost.