Silent whispers

deux

For now I'm a
prisoner of my
own thoughts,
waiting for the
boy who turned
me into a sinner
to breathe me
into life.
I'm on my knees,
begging the skies
to glide down their
curtains and wrap
my body in dark,
hiding all the letters
he tattooed on my
skin, but the sun
glares at me in
reply, punishing me
silently for being
silly enough to put
my heart in the palm
of a flammable boy.
I knew he was the
devil himself, for
he used to walk on
his tiptoes so he
wouldn't wake up
the girls he kept
locked in his chest,
But I knew too that
he had stars in his
hair, and raindrops
on his fingertips,
violin cords for lashes,
and music notes for
words.
He was like a dream.
The kind of dream
you feel it tickle your
body like a soft
summer breeze that
slipped under your
blanket on a lonely
night. The kind of
dream you wish it
will never end. The
kind of dream you
hope it will visit
you again when it
ends. The kind of
dream you leave
your window open
for the next summer.