ur sleeping on the couch

pepper sprinkled

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).