dredpiratebunny | uncrossed

she invokes loki to her soul and used out
burned up skin
she basks in the moon seeking solace for empty hands
she sees the heart in the dark
an absence of light
a gravity greater than the weight of her breasts

she lays in the grass for hours
speaking defiance and desire and deadening

she has lived more lives and lies than any girl should

he is a series of could be's like all the others
he is some strange kind of candle that sputters
more than burns
he huddles under blankets and brilliance and smiles back
unsure
he supposes the space makes up for it all in the long run

and she is only a sprinter of words

they are circling and suffering in their own ways
they both scrape the skin clean of dirt and salvation
deserving none
and tasting instead the sweat of years.
this, they think, is all that will ever be
this, they think, is my version of home.