Greenwoods

When she spoke the letters where nothing but black paint, neither oil or water, it was her she was talking her.1

down i looked into the broken skin colored buildings laying waste to the feeling of success and falling with my strings cut. A day painted black would make sense but time has stopped the day is forever as today is stopped it does not exist. Heaven and hell not to be seen with bodies that contain the breath of life, it should not mean it is not real2

The white candles remind us of when the sky had no paint but do not look at the carriers of the light for it is and always will be an illusion the venus fly trap of hope, the abuse and horror she faced is seen on the fully grown children, mechanical noises bellow from their mouths as each eye of theirs has surprise of their own actions, they push their cutters of grass powered by their fear the morning dew of a fresh cut lawn made with their spit, the boys always liked her and the teachers saw her as a star pupil but some girls got jealous because she got all the paint to use with the boys, so all they could do is paint with black, and everything was black, but they only painted her.