You mentioned once that I was prettier than blood. Prettier than blood because blood was my favorite color. You took solace in my creepiness and turned it into love. You turned my nightmares into art-ridden movies, my apologies into multufaceted tricks, my sadness into an all heart romance.
You always knew what to say to make me feel as though my flaws were the best parts about me.
But I burnt us down and made you tell me it's alright.
I have been nothing but embers in the air turning everything around us into flames of artifice for what we really are.
And still you call me love and tell me it's alright and water down my flames and tell me I'm pretty.
You would be a lot easier to take if I wasn't so sure you'd leave me bloodless and dull.
Bloodless like the pretty I'm not and dull like the mind I try to mend.