Wild Hearts

they were wild girls. wild and fiery young things. they snuck out of their bedroom windows in the middle of the night to dance and make love. they had fiery hair, and thin, tanned legs, with band-aids on their knees. they flew through the night with long limbs and bleached denim wings. i was in love, in love with all of them. they were all their own stories,m they had their own lives outside of me. i was just the one that looked, i was never allowed to touch.

they swam naked in the ocean at midnight, and sprayed their lives onto local convenience. they were never caught, and i think that's why i loved them. they could get away with anything.

~

she was the silent one with fuchsia lips, ripped nylons: red hair. she painted zombies in rainbow water colours and sunbathed on her roof naked. it was her lips. she told me she wanted to kill herself. she wanted to know what hell was like.

you haven't done anything terrible, i told her.

but i am horrible. i hate the thoughts i have, she whispered.

you are wonderful, and you make everything you touch beautiful.

~

that night, i dreamt of guitar solos and purple tinted lip gloss, glitter, and her body; blood. i dreamt of her blood.

~

i never saw them in the daylight, maybe they wore disguises, i thought.

i was naive, so stupid. they were night creatures, nocturnal. their lives were magic. things that were so young; pristine beings. they didn't know death.

when i saw her body in her bed, i wanted to die too. blood. i wanted to touch her blood. i needed to have it inside of me. her wrists, stained with dry, rusty crimson blood, that matched her lips. naked. skin. taste. love. hair. her hair was red. fiery. she had been so perfect.
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