A phoenix of his love.
His name is carved deeply into my brain and he haunts my memories and present thoughts. He is a ghost within my soul, trapped within the underworld of my tortured corpse. His cerulean gaze is painted beneath my eyelids and our eyes merge with serenity whenever I fall into a bedevilled slumber. Sometimes I feel his phantasmal limbs reaching away from within me and I feel a sharp, stabbing of despair, his presence crushes my inked heart, yet without him I feel desolate and inanimate. He is the sanguine fluid which patrols my veins and his hawkish fingers cradle my seasoned quintessence. I fear living a life that is consumed by his beauty and immersed in his magnificence… I embrace a container before showering beneath its acidic contents, the slick liquids slither through my golden tendrils and drench my laced attire. My perception is sombre and I admire my surroundings through his cobalt vision. My shaking fingers scratch a match and I am instantly consumed with heat and passion. Flames lick at my soles and caress my pallid canvas, enveloping me in its deadly swaddle and growing around me like a poison ivy to trellis. I outstretch my arms as I am turned to ashes, screaming his name as his morbid companionship bids my soul farewell, from these ashes I shall rise as one, no longer bound by his terrifying guardianship. I watch his soiled light float above me as I fall, as I crash and burn. A phoenix of his love.
- O. Hella