toxin {fox//blitz}
May 3, 2018 10:23:18 GMT -5
Post by kousei ♚ on May 3, 2018 10:23:18 GMT -5
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I find a lifeline in sunlight.
I rise from a pile of ash, a clear mind and a shiver through blackened veins. "Shit." There's a shake in my wrist, I'm chasing the echo of a chemical storm; this is what it means to be numb. Telling myself that there isn't a bullet in my temple despite waking up to red sheets and bleeding veins. It's cyclical at this point. Hitting the ground, telling myself that I'm dead, but waking up like nothing happened.
I'm worth no more than the poisons they feed me; half a bag in my back pocket and my hands stuffed in my side ones. This is what it means to be numb; not feeling anything despite the blackened blood blooming from bullet wounds in my chest and a purple throb in my temple. This isn't withdrawal, this is numbness, and that fact is shown to me when I dare to touch the sun and call it my lifeline.
I'm chasing cyclical highs, following the sunlight in search of a lifeline.
Until I find the end, form disappearing into back alleys and wooden boxes. This seems like a good spot, I smile and set myself down on a box and pull one in front of me.
I bite my lip to the sound of a shift. Shuffling along the ground and shadows biting at my skin. My hand drifts and I think about the blade in my pocket -- try to steal my shit, I dare you. You don't stay in this business for long without getting your hands dirty.
I'm grinning when I challenge them, toxic confidence rises from between my teeth like smoke from a factory. Artificial, self-destructive but worth it.
"Y'know, if you want a hit then skulking about in the dark isn't the best way to make me want to share."
I find a lifeline in the shadows.
I rise from a pile of ash, a clear mind and a shiver through blackened veins. "Shit." There's a shake in my wrist, I'm chasing the echo of a chemical storm; this is what it means to be numb. Telling myself that there isn't a bullet in my temple despite waking up to red sheets and bleeding veins. It's cyclical at this point. Hitting the ground, telling myself that I'm dead, but waking up like nothing happened.
I'm worth no more than the poisons they feed me; half a bag in my back pocket and my hands stuffed in my side ones. This is what it means to be numb; not feeling anything despite the blackened blood blooming from bullet wounds in my chest and a purple throb in my temple. This isn't withdrawal, this is numbness, and that fact is shown to me when I dare to touch the sun and call it my lifeline.
I'm chasing cyclical highs, following the sunlight in search of a lifeline.
Until I find the end, form disappearing into back alleys and wooden boxes. This seems like a good spot, I smile and set myself down on a box and pull one in front of me.
I bite my lip to the sound of a shift. Shuffling along the ground and shadows biting at my skin. My hand drifts and I think about the blade in my pocket -- try to steal my shit, I dare you. You don't stay in this business for long without getting your hands dirty.
I'm grinning when I challenge them, toxic confidence rises from between my teeth like smoke from a factory. Artificial, self-destructive but worth it.
"Y'know, if you want a hit then skulking about in the dark isn't the best way to make me want to share."
I find a lifeline in the shadows.
--
{ and we skydive from walls we've built
dying just to feel alive}
{ and we skydive from walls we've built
dying just to feel alive}