I once imagined I lived in a toy, a tale of death, where red clouds bled down on my ragged white dress, where my absent lovers bones were rotten and his charm was truly disguised and his rapid heart exploded from my heavy kisses and fibs. Poor little lover of mine, but now I know why you don’t exist. No one has ever imagined something like this. Not for one second will anyone fathom my nonfiction biography, for they have dull imaginations and a dilated subconscious. While I’m dreaming and mocking all muses, everyone’s dreaming of never ending honeymoons, faint moonlights, and risky nights. In the end, who’s the melodramatic fool? It doesn’t matter because I will remain secretive and imaginable forever and a day more.

My once sober lover gave me a gift and they were the most loneliest string of red pearls, along with a note telling me to paint his eyes white, his heart gold, his skin yellow, and his soul black, I call this devouring beauty. I’ve also arranged dead ends and painted the roses blue. I may be a shallow hero but I sleep with monsters and punish my veins. I make sisters cry and trouble the young heroines because they only care what you have to say once you tell them your sad story, otherwise, you don’t matter at all. Being enlightened doesn’t mean being happy. It means you’re okay even when things aren’t and today it rained under water. It’s sad, you’re sad, get help. I wish I could run for my life.

A girl with stitched arms and buttons for eyes wants to save someone’s life but does anyone want to save hers? She told me this morning that she watched with sunny eyes, bunnies chasing balloons and got lost in paranoia. Her greedy lover was prescribed his addictions and he was diagnosed to overdose. With cold skin, a burning heart, and bruised fists, they are suffering night terrors and peeling of dead skin. The girl is a half hearted poet and he, well, he is tomorrows goner. Full of jealousy and apologies. Not every star shines. He will always be the silence between the notes, the white space between the letters, the missing that makes everything else a something.

With anxious desire and a wicked presence, I make future time stop dead before the clock strikes twelve. I may be whole hearted and a slender beauty but I will kill all the widows in the world for no reason at all. I once lived lavish and haunted but no longer ordinary and starving, just an evil spirit embracing the sex addicts. From the stars down to cheating on this story, I am taking best guesses in the afternoon worries while filming every ones dreams. I am bitter and hated for taking last chances, glances, and stealing kisses from the one person lacking misery. I am now weak and a sheepish wino. I have a colorless vision about this city of innocence. I am a shallow dreamer and you are?