i.
he is beautiful. she knows this as she collapses into his arms like a dying star. he doesn’t know that her lungs are aching from the countless breakdowns and she thinks her sees her through shattered one-way mirrors,
because he loves her.
ii.
he thinks that the bruises on her arms are left by the music coursing through her bloodstream and ricocheting off thin capillary walls. he thinks that she cries because of the way the glittering pavement breaks off little pieces of sunbeams and turns them into shimmers of white light that pierce through rain, and that she lies about why her cheeks are wet because an artist never admits how profoundly beauty affects them. her eyes are damp because she can see right through him and the way solar flares ignite in his irises, even though they are blue,
and she remembers that stars that shine cerulean burn hottest.
iii.
her eyes are blue too,
but they’re blue like stormy seas and twilight. he tells her blue is the color of tranquility, and she tries to pretend she’s everything he sees in her through lenses of myth and make-believe. she wishes she could emulate the golden threads rippling through his voice and the needlepoint softness of his gaze, and the crackling warmth of his confidence.
full of a bitter measure of icy reason, she determines: he’s insane.
the sky doesn’t fall when she sings, she can’t breathe lyrics and downbeats and cadences, and only tiny buds of insecurity open when she smiles. whatever he sees in her can’t be real.
iv.
he doesn’t understand the angel with battered wings. she flickers like flame, and he knows he’s running out of time; but he doesn’t know how to save her, transcend the layers of bulletproof loneliness. she only owns cracked mirrors and stained photographs, but he sees her bathed in moonbeams she doesn’t believe in. in his mind she is goddess, but she puts frail hands over her eyes—
she doesn’t believe in deception.
v.
the boy with the suns in his eyes looked down at the girl who didn’t believe in moonbeams. she was inhaling pieces of shattered dreams like they could take her closer to heaven, and he was afraid. he didn’t want to lose her amid fractured images of mediocrity and scattered prose,
but before he could convince her, she was already falling.
Author notes
I don't like the title. Ideas?
H e a r t b r e a k H e r o i n e - x
In a list
A contest entry
- because i just want to feel; by of insincerity.
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Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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simply amazing.
the most beautiful imagery and metaphors.
and i can't even choose bits I love, becuase it was the whole thing =]
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i love the whole thing, down to every last word and metaphor.
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hi
hi my anme is BBIOPDGHdxsdio;df;uhdf and I think that this is a very goose poemmmmm smels good I like dinner and pudding any way I think that it is very good -
This is great.
I LOVE LOVE LOVE the title. thats what caught my attenetion and made me choose to read this before the others.
fantastic write. thanks for entering. -
please space your name out in your AN.
"she was inhaling pieces of shattered dreams like they could take her closer to heaven," -incredible. -
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I corrected it
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Wow this is brilliant!
I LOVE it! I think the line "he doesn’t understand the angel with battered wings" is brilliant!
Wow,great write!
Midnight-tears
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