the poison perspective

she only thinks she looks beautiful in the rearview mirror at night,when she is riding in that quiet car but what is beauty but retrospect.
hanging desperatly to the memories that hold no value but still she clings to them like some twisted morphine drip she is only dulling pain instead of dealing
if she lets go she lets herself die
this is counteractive
this is a redundant landslide
she is holding on to fleeting dreams
she is living the glass life
and she hates it she is tired of breaking
because the only good feeling is that of being shattered
rolling on the stained glass shards
this blood is soothing
warm like her healing lies
cold like the death of hearts
fluid like their downfall
with the sting of promises yet to be fufilled
she wants to believe that someone hopefully her has dies a million times on these flaming coals of catastrophic rememberances
but she knows that her dying is just false bravado
a candy coated arsenic pill she slips her to justify her guilt.