They Know Nothing Of Love

kir

 

The lonely eyes of a girl who stands alone before the universe. The cracked bells of a church she wished to be married in, now tolling her death march instead. Blood-red gums. Blowjobs to prevent suicidal thoughts. Scars and train crashes and the stink of alcohol on her favourite dress. Everything hurts, and no matter how many faces come and go, there’s no escaping hollow bones and a lack of self-respect. A man has hands, and all he wants is to strip you naked. To crush you like a flower. Destruction of beauty, a vital thing for the weak, for it’s the only thing that will ever let them come close to control. The ugliness inside so hard to ignore. It’s in your desperate face, and it’s in the haunted look you give to anyone who’ll pay attention. To feel wanted. To feel real. Wipe away those tears, and know that you did it all to yourself. Take a second to breathe it in. Your life is bound to you, so stop seeking home in the arms of another. Fond farewells, and young girls circling the smoke of an arson attack. Fingertips on milk-white teeth, and the sullen despair of not being like others. Romance, good versus evil, haunting like a cancer patient on the brink of nowhere. Short skirt. Fake tits. As vulgar as anything you could dream of. Take your insides out, and let them see what you’re made of. Let them mock what you stand for. Let them ridicule all that fills your veins with a sense of magic they’ll never come close to. The only ones worth saving are those clinging on to life in silence. The ones with meaning dulled by those with useless opinions. Those who speak loudest have the least to say. They’ll do anything to drag you down with them, so just step back, and hold that mirror close to their pale faces. Empty vessels. No poetry of the soul, just another doomed shell who never took the time to look closer. And now it’s too late. It’s always too late.

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