i. 
we exist in expired elixirs, the ones that are lost at the back of the shelf, the ones with the tags scraped off so we don't really remember what we are anymore, what we're worth, filled to the brim with monochrome pills that promise numbness.

ii.
we exist in the splatter of paint against unfinished furniture, spangled with synthetic threads and wine glass rims, scathed with cigarette stubs of yet another person seeking anesthesia.

iii.
we exist in habromanic hearts under flickering streetlights, waiting upon the pale smears we call shooting stars. Such liars they are.

iv.
we exist in minted Polaroids, tucked in the forgotten pages of a leather bound album, tainted with skid marks of silver cadillacs.

v.
we exist in the mellow flushes of sunlight under a lover's cheekbones, blemished with blushes of scandals, anachronic record players in a modern world, in those dancing demons that keep you up at the am.

vi.
we exist in the exurbs of the universe, lost notes of the unsteady symphonies, pirouetting amongst dust bunnies, made up of viridian hearts and iridium bones, just waiting for that last gust to scatter what's left of us.

can you love the tragedy that dusts our spines?

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haven't done an author's note in a long time lol but this is for the ones that don't comment much. Just for once, leave a comment at the end and tell me what line hit close to home.