When starvation twists our muscles with

its sharp edges and razor-sharp kneecaps.

All those nights when alcohol

bleeds out of our blue veins,

we recall our riverside homes,

swept away in devil storms.

We drink our hearts out in the burning vodka.

The street lights hover melancholy in

the pale cobwebs.

The train roars low, clinging metals and

broken laughter; we are the burning pain leaning

against their gentle kisses in the elevator.

The despair washes away with the fainting hatred,

but the agony lingers behind around the

razor cuts on our arms.

The graves look like silver tragedies at night;

a cold lullaby passes by.

All there's left are our rain-soaked bodies and untold pain.

We need this.

We lay on the bathroom floor,

auric red flowing across our limbs,

and the half-empty glass of drunken sorrow in our trembling hands;

The emotions lie empty here, killing themselves with us

while withering away in the shades of indigo.

Our daydreams and fantasies of paper planes and shooting stars

are a beautiful hallucination of being alone;

A constellation of destructive poetry

where the dead poets return again and again.

We draw lonely lads drowning in a sea of stars

and crazy ladies with liquor-washed mouths.

Cerulean silence of shunned loneliness.

We scream at the stars for death to

admire the bliss of homecoming and nostalgia.

The burning liquor's killing us slowly,

numbing the pain into pieces.

Perhaps, we would return as crashing waves

upon the butter sands — humming with oceanic euphoria.

When we would slip away in the molten colors of agony,

Bury us, oh stars, in the withered lilies under the starlight with crushed cigars 

and ink-splashed letters of love;

A daffodil would bloom where our souls were trampled upon.

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A/N: A little star can wink if you enjoyed this, right? ;)