She took the bricks from his shoulders and built a home.
She took the stars from his eyes and made the sky.
She took his lips from his face and cried all night.
She took his heart and stitched it to her sleeve.
She took and took and took and took and took.
But she did not see the truth.
There could only be one.
For the bricks she took, the other girl replaced.
For the stars she took, the other girl put back.
For the lips she took, the other girl kissed it back onto his face every night.
For the heart she took, it dug its way out from her chest and though she was made from silver, this other girl was pure gold. The heart was a miner, and it found its way back into the other girl’s chest. The other girl’s mine. His mine. Not hers, but his.
The other girl gave and gave and gave and gave and gave and gave and gave and gave.
While he took and took and took and took.
That is the difference.
That is the big difference.
There could only be one.
One truth, the other girl and him.
Replacing brick after brick
to build a better home.
Stealing more stars
from the vast universe
and placed it back
into his fucking eyes
without her.
The lips she stole,
the other girl
had spares
for a rainy day;
the other girl knew
how to put his lips
right where she wanted it
because she gave, gave and gave;
while all she did was take from him.
And that’s the sick truth about being—
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
jbbartram-illu
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
janainaart
jacobvanloon
annaxmalina
areudirty
tangentwithtanner
dededos
