of Death, Dreams and Hell

all I’ve ever wanted was to fall through my bed and straight into hell.

the clouds screamed manic frustration downwards, through my skull
I waited, all packed and dressed, for death to absorb my pain
I dreamt poisonous wild flowers were eating through my skin
perfectly decorating the intentions that had torn a hole in my side;
perfuming me with lust filled suicides and stormy horizons.

damaged voices split my thin lipstick smudged figure in half
I collapsed on my splintered spine, falling on little plastic stars
starved of empathy, I took shots of gold and inhaled doses of dreams
spluttering my fantasies back into the air, I was unable to make it stick;
my lungs, burnt with the morbid intoxication of glittering sickness.

but I couldn’t fall; so I had decided I would float to the flames instead.