The Sweetest Conditions

 

Finger nails break as the grounds we trembled through hardens, and breaks in the kiln of time as our memories fleet, hair flows down the river, and the lines press in our faces. Your name still cemented in the catacombs with a shoe box of photographs, as the lighting becomes timid as night approaches the horrors of our romances fall all around the leaves quake and your hair goes back to your natural color.

We could go anywhere, and be anyone.

I chose to stay and be your number one dreamer as the years fade, and the headstones trade one year for another.

Someday you would come back for me, and the locks would fly off the cages of a wilted memory as the plastic rings decay openly struggling to find it's way back to the centerfold of your hands.

The records spin on the heart strings where I used to be buried in the deep the stone halls etched with the screams, dreams, and trails of tears leading it's way home. Circles end, and the trending scent of the holidays float along as we rise from the ashes, the dirt, the grave, and into the air.

The dreams invited in decayed with the fever left simmering and twitching. 

Behind the wheel folding in on the picnic blanket meant to show the kids.

Airing out the flight patterns.

Angelic curls that twirl in time.

Along the tombs

Shining on in it's time.