Smoke Filled Lungs, or
Loss
Petals reach upwards, spreading, searching. Glimmers reflect, indistinct in origin. Fingers rise to dry lips, carrying a flame that was foreign but entrenched, a peace that came from the wake of destruction, the moulding of disease hidden in the civility of the act.
She took a puff of miasmal, cloudy air and her eyes closed, lashes entwining like the teeth of a predator, embers lightening bright against a dark backdrop, burning with the strength of decay and then decaying in her sigh of melancholy and death, and then again.
The twinkle of pain-filled stars singing in chorus to the pain of a lonely girl, who had lost all for everyone to win their all, whose glimmer dies a bit more each time she sighs.
