a certain summer

i dragged her out
with several wounds on my hands
roses growing from the lacerations of my wrists
and it seems the stems of the plants
are wrapping around my arms
with razorblades playing the role of thorns

and i could've sworn i heard her whisper
i like this and i love you
and i'm sorry for all you had to
go through

i could've sworn that came from her mouth
but it's hard to hear the truth
with a million butterflies buzzing for the death of sound
and a million bodies draining out
and saying too much

it's dead air
dead and silent air
but i still carried her out
with a thousand more lacerations in this blackheart
and our red sky falling apart
it's still nothing
not even a poison
to the beautiful