(and i kiss you)
it tastes of metal and blood and coffee, staining the backs of my teeth and rushing down my throat and my lungs are burning because i can’t pull away to breathe without you. you are the storm in the heart of the sun and the icy cold winds of winter but if i play with either then i still stand to be burnt. and burn me, please. crush me cover me turn me to ash throw me to the winds to scatter in the hope one day you could breathe me down. you are made of fire and rage and dear lord in heaven my arms were made for burning. bottle after bottle of spirit is downed and i wonder if, if you fucked me, would i set aflame?
perhaps we are all angels. perhaps all humans are angels of the lowest order, and i the lowest of them all. you, apollo, with your sword of fire and your holy scriptures spilling from you the way water does rocks, and i. and i, my sword extinguished, my wings clipped, my halo bent.
(your eyes are the colour of gunshots)
heaven bless the person that first gave you a gun and let you put it in your mouth so that you swallowed so much powder that it stained your lungs dark. you took in the fire and let it consume you. you took in the grapeshot and it coloured your words like magazine bursts. you took in the bullet and buried it in your heart and that’s perfect because i will be there to hold it together with shaking palms.
(you don’t kiss me back)
sorry sorry sorry you say and that’s so cheap. you’ll fuck me when you think it’s obsession but apologise when you know it’s love and oh god it’s love. it’s the type of love you hide in confessionals for, the type of love that keeps you on your knees by your bedside, hands clasped, eyes to god, it’s the type of love that burns through my veins and out through my skin because my blood doesn’t want to be anywhere near me. not when you’re around.
grantaire narrates all of his painting like bob ross
even when he is alonehe’s like the sad version of bob ross. “now see here, we’re going to use this wider brush to make a little tree. a sad little tree. all trees are sad because humans keep destroying them and they can’t run away. look, it’s bending over like that because it’s filled with the fatalistic knowledge that the planet earth is doomed. now we’ll add some sad little clouds.”