I come from a galaxy of thoughts, each bent on making myself occupy as little space as possible. I come from clenched fists, refusing to let go of scars and stories. I come from one eye on the dark movie screen and one on the exit door (just in case). I come from flimsy sweaters but hands crossed over my chest. I come from humming lips but anxiously tapping feet. I come from loud laughter but quiet eyes.
I’m a loaded gun bent on shooting itself, cocked and ready to go.
You come along and rage a storm, envelope my head in dreams that can be won. You come up and hold my hand, letting my nails dig into your palms but refusing my fists their will. You wrap me in your cigarette scented lips, fingers dancing along my body like memory foam, every crevice known yet eagerly explored.
It’s simple, this, effortless – like it should be. Crazy, uncontained, helpless. It’s whirlwind but gradual; comfortable but sexual.
I turn to you, meeting your eyes. (Amused) You ask me why I look away, your laughter booming. Oh, what can I say? Would you believe me if I told you I look away because these eyes of yours make me feel fire?
Fire, like the fierceness in a periwinkle blue, bright, summer sky;
like the embers of a smouldering fire long past its flame.
Title: Imagine Dragons. Shots.