quicksilver

go on. snap the string and scar my pretty sky. still, i am still abhoring second and third and fifth chances on wings of tarnished silver gleam. beneath the glow of our reflections - mine casting back multiple silent screams. so noone ever knows and Exile exiles wrath; negates the mercy shown by a thousand distant smiles. and as i take my place by you, here.. silhouettes, painted against our grey skyline - they dance in their stillness.

sometimes i'm convinced my heart is inside my head and i spend the rest of the days convincing myself i'm in the real world, even though i can still feel the touch, pulling me back behind my eyelids. i'd scatter my mind like it was a handful of ancient stars, so i could wish on them alike - and that is my downfall. the wishing.