burgundy

a boy sits in his pool of ego, draped in a burgundy veil. he speaks with charm and his teeth are dripping with false quotes and morals. the glasses framing his beautiful eyes seem to hide what one should truly see within this individual. and without hesitation, extravagantly phrased, bitter sweet sentences pour from his nicotine stained lungs. his throat box battered to pieces from illness and passion filled arguments. and as he slips witty smirks and clever comments through the lips he uses to poison his victims, his hands firmly grip his arrogance, a child gripping a blanket. other people's creativity strewn across his walls. other people's hopes and dreams come crawling and scraping down the egg shell white paint. eyes darting, stomach growling, lungs burning, heart pumping. and as the words flow from his throat, of how he dreams of her nicotine kisses, and mystereous eyes, and how he would love to spend a day in her embrace, his mind wanders through the forests of women he had come to know all too well. oh, but how her head fit so well against his collar bone and chest. his smile tells secrets no one should know, but only to those who care to take a closer look. the sky pours and all he can do is pick leaves off a tree. but she loved the way they smelled, she loved the way he smelled. he coughs up old smoke and more lies. the illness eating away at his lungs, and heart. eating away at her heart, but who's to say which endeared others more. the skies turn grey, the leaves fall, and she falls.