Nascency.

I still have hope that every star
that touched my crease-fold wings
might fall someday;
and land a little closer to the place where
I sleep and dream of
guns and rabbits--
Bullets from the palm of the one I love.

And it seems as if my memory's been faltering;
and these tragedies you speak of unfolding
never occurred in the first place.
But perhaps these emotions
I comprehend, but don't feel
are better off being nothing but a trail
of broken neurons.

The sky fell short last night;
and my ankles seemed to break under
the tension of my thoughts...

Nascence.
Heart chilled under broken thermometers;
unable to read the kerosene
thoughts I inhaled
when your warmth interfered.

And you slipped between my fingertips;
like broken hulls on cargo ships--
the wake slapped my face
and brought me down to earth.

My hand glitters against the chorus,
as there's something about violins and electric guitars
coordinating together
that warms my heart--

And you taste like nothing's wrong...

But I see inbetween the smiles
you laid to rest;
dressed in angel dust--
the role you play as the
suicide you'll bring upon yourself.

I'm indecisive and poisonous;
but I have the viral antidote.

Your choices,
your mistakes;
they never make sense to me,
but I can blink that away.

Just stop fading
your brilliance
for second bests.