i may be a few shades, shards darker than ethereal, with my tapioca curls and pale grey bones. i'm not an angel, but i'm a few tones, triggers lighter than to be anathematized, with my sun-dripping eyes and pale skin. i do not seem as fireproof and i thought i was, my flesh (as rotten as it may be) like paper and highly flammable; not fit for the depths of hell.i am not as clean as i thought i was, dirt caked in the creases of my being, my vision blurred by the sins of others i have chosen to carry. not fit for the beauty of heaven (it's not like i'll be able to see it).
YOU ARE READING
ur sleeping on the couch
Poetrysticky cantaloupe sunrises & kissing ur soft honeydew mouth