Mourning Would‪.‬ 3am Gutterflower Tower

Morning nonsense, I think because I wake up alone and with the misery overflowing, pillows soaked with the goddamn immutable tears and fucking that moment when Jack, a statue of ice and love, slips down, his strands of hair sway like the final last thoughts mustve swirled slow and downy in his head, and his eyes stay open and looking up, up, up— a whole life, a whole man, whose name will never matter, whose dreams are just yesterday’s clouds, and his love, his head, his soul as pure and marred as lost virginal blood of the very same girl womanized and ruined by that love that stares back frozen, flowing, sinking, and unblinking, into the blackness of the icy, unforgiving, love with the ocean salty tears. And all the stars in sky shine brighter as they cry through the night, glowing reflections of the tops of the waves. The true story is that the hero always dies and our love is always lost in the reflection of the stars.