The Happy Loss

    

    Flight fighters swoon. 

Flames sway in symmetrical nuances as the wedged pieces of ourselves melt like wax providing candle light dining for two in our houses burning down. Loose ends flip, and fray like firecrackers in the lounge acts we prepared falling like dominoes the fatty substances of fake IDs, facial expressions flowing like figures of speech that flow over and upwards like birthday candles into the night. 

Tables char, and the marshmallow tears fog up the protective eye gear that yellows like our smiles, and subtly matches the sky. Foul fumes of the guttural exhales chime in the musing we drink in the wine aging with the years of poised full of fear. Your eyes don't lie as we fade in these walls echoing with the grips, of the ups, and downs. When you say that's just love hovering over the outskirts of life whispering that's just life.

Taking advantage of, breaking the backs of, and standing on the shoulders of, the youths ruined. Aging maybes flutter from lips of the painted bards putting the ornaments back into their boxes, forging the flames as they sizzle on wires, and bricks crumble as teeth crack from work related stress. Will we still be soft? Will we still be soiled? Does life provide the taste of relief, or fresh air for these lungs so bare, and empty?