The Last of the Phantasmagoricals

The snow was dirty by the time I woke up today. It lost its innocence even faster than I did. I guess you don’t hate me anymore. Sometimes I have to remind myself to keep hating you.

The sun sets earlier and earlier these days, and it doesn’t matter that we never shared one because it still makes me think of you. It reminds me that I never give up on dead dreams even when they’re rotting. I’m a rainbow chaser who’s never loved anything but shooting stars. It’s going to get cold when the sun dies, but you’ll always look better dead. I remember the days when I could still write the pain away. I wonder how my writing is still honest when I only lie to myself. I wish I felt young again.

I know now that I’m the last of the hopelessly hopeful in a city of deserted dreams. But the difference between us remains the same: I know I’m lost; you’re still searching for the road. Your compass stopped pointing to me long ago, but you continue to follow your bloody footprints back to where we began. Consider this the last time I follow you anywhere.

The darkness is incapable of comfort here, unlike any blackness I have ever felt back home. Where I’m from it’s hard to feel this alone. A little coastal town that always feels like summertime, even when it rains. Cities have darker secrets and larger cemeteries, the taller the buildings the deeper the shadows. This is your time to shine, gravedigger, the dirt is still soft from the snow. I wish you’d stop lying about the blood on your hands. Especially when it’s mine.

I don’t think I ever told you I’m happier when you’re around. There will never come a time when I don’t have a million things to say to you, even though you’re better off gone. If I could forget the feel of you, maybe I could forget your face and let you rest in peace. But my skin is still covered in your fingerprints, and it hurts to wash them off. Soon you’ll just be another casualty and I’ll have just one more scar.

I no longer clean the glass before I look into it. It’s better this way. I don’t need a mirror to tell me I’m fading, and I don’t need my reflection to remind me who I was. I’m a black and white photograph fading to grey. A tireless girl who sleeps with the lights on so she won’t be deceived by her dreams. Looking at the stars I feel infinite. Looking at you I feel dead. Either way we’re star-crossed. And better off in limbo.

Your words still stain my mind like your eyes burn my back, and I really wish you’d return to your grave. I can’t walk away if I’m chained to you. Let’s stop pretending you want to see me happy when watching me cry was the only thing that made you smile. You’re the lead in my soles, the doubt in my dreams. Good luck finding Eden without me. I hope it’s as beautiful as you described. A little fantastic, a little fleeting, and constantly out of reach. People like you don’t deserve paradise, just like people like me will always choose the apple. Even lies taste like fruit to my forked tongue.

Did you know I still miss you? It’s your fault I’m sleepless. I’m restless, you’re shameless. Your words are weightless. What we had was infamous. From now on, I’d like you better faceless. There are days when I wish you would just disappear.

You’re asphyxiating. Now smile.