"But maybe snow is just angels
flicking ashes from their
cigarettes down to earth,
and the days we spend home
from school playing in powdered
crystals will leave us coughing
up smoke when we turn 16.
and the light pink dress your
mother used to make you wear
will turn red where it hits your
hips and kisses the tips of
your wrists, and your mother
will ask you why there’s blood
on all your clothing and you’ll
pretend like you haven’t been
doing drugs in the bathroom
at school and crying so much.
and one of these days I’ll scream
at you to kiss me, and you’ll do it
and we’ll both burn into the ground
and watch our bones melt into
nothing because we are nothing,br>
even though we’ve got ourselves
convinced that we’re the world.
but at least your lips are against
mine.
and you don’t always feel it at
first, but when you feel it oh god
you feel it.
and liquor seems like a good idea
until it’s not.
and you’ll get better at feeling sorry
for yourself and bandaging cuts.
and you’ll get better at finding
the stars under your skin, and
learning to breathe again.
and you’ll lose your f*cking mind but you’ll find it.
again,
and again,
and again.
and I’m terrified of growing up, and leaving behind chapped lips and peach tasting kisses and fireworks and headaches and eyes filled with oceans pouring down your face and flooding your mouth, but I would go anywhere with you."
musicure
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