(there are no pretty words for this, it’s too ugly, but it needs to be said…)
On these cold autumn nights, runaway butterflies flutter away. The cracked mirror is reflecting shadows of dreams we used to have. The waves of a half-empty ocean (of sorrow) crash against us. Our words – remembered only for a brief moment – are now lost, adrift a dark sky. Satellites collide and we struggle for a breath – this pain isn’t romantic. It hurts, it hurts like collapsed dreams and broken bones. There are no pretty words to describe it. It’s like a rapture in the sky, a big black hole pulling us all in, while we are screaming with aching lungs. This pain is ugly. It’s the kind of pain people are afraid to talk about. The kind of pain that leaves streaks of sadness, of tears and despair on the sky and on us. On our skin, on our hearts. It’s the kind of pain that corrodes us, while we are silently fighting the darkness.
The sun becomes too bright, burning inside of us – a fire that won’t cease. A million thoughts all at once. Sirens sing; unanchored we drift between reality and dreams. Voices scream from the void, but we have wings now. Un-burning wings. Like moths we are drawn to light, we become light and burn white for days. We burn, twirling in chaos, running too fast for miles without stopping, we burn and burn until there is nothing left, but ashes.