She wanted his hands to fit her hips perfectly but they made her feel like She needed to be set on fire.

She wanted to fuck him bc calling it sex would've been a lie.

Sex would have left a manifesto jar of broken butterfly wings in his bed side drawer.

It would have made her crave him even more than a cigarette on a sacred sunset filled with self loathing.

The only time he ever wanted her was when he was a little drunk and she was stoned out of her mind.

From there everything got boiled down into acid.

No one was around to hear, but She felt like she was going to die on his couch one night.

She wasn't scared.

She could've stayed there for eternity and never lifted a finger.

She let her world blur into purely pastel colors while he was seeing in only black and white.

She never even got a kiss good night.

So now he jumps from the basements of burning buildings bc he feels the broken butterfly wings inside of his chest cavity dying to get out in search of a deeper meaning, but they have no where to fly to.

"They have no more than me and you." He said, "No home to fly to or run to or just to be. They only have you and me."

She said "I believe your wrong. I left them in your manifesto jar long ago. my heart bled them for you in attempts to see a smile. I never got a smile."

December 2014