Nothing would be more romantically poetic than us dying together.
The suicidal pot wholes of life’s scars we would drop in often.
Digging our own his and hers graves. Laughing… Drinking the sad atmosphere.
Today will be our first day holding hands yet our last day ever seen.
Both being the children of a dead beat happiness that we never saw.
We waited though… waiting and waiting… Mother said he would come back to us some day.
We grew tired of his empty lying promises.
Ridiculed and rejected by all means. By our own friends and families. Till anxiety was more of a reliable friend than he or she ever were.
No one seems to understand you and me. No one understands the true dysfunctional disaster of painful memories that linger.
We would often shout left. Then lifting our heads up to see that we are everyone’s none understandable spectacle for consumption criticism unfold.
Some way through our crooked unforgettable past. We managed to find one whole of a half in two different yet comparable paths.
We are truly a complete incomplete match.
It’s very funny to me how I feel like the only way we can truly love each other and be…..
Dirt drops on the one burgandy casket lowering slowly into the atmost-crust.
Ashes to ashes our bodies are now one in the same casket alive holding each other as two under looked so called crazy ones.
I will always be till we cease to breathe. Reappearing in the light wearing all white clean.
I will always be crazy about you and me!
So I guess I am crazy……..