Hillary T enjoys habitually marveling at the little things life carries. Here is here deep...
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Black on Black
Sepia can paint this city black on black and I’ll be happier than ever. The rings of smoke that come out of your mouth will match my burning insides; my lack of luster and hope. Humans are such strange creatures. I am such a strange creature. I see things in the darkest tint of black and white and my eyes do not cooperate with color. I am blind sighted and I see people portioned black and white. Humanity just doesn't deserve the polish and the inflated zeal and the washable watercolors that God offered us from the dawn. We belong in the dark; beneath the blisters under our fingers and the cold that chokes our smoked lungs. Black on black. I am a different person in the dark. A monster is who I am. And I am who I am. I was swallowed up by darkness whole and by the morning I am empty and lost. I have headaches in the morning and my eyes still red from last night's talks. But I don't speak in the light; that just isn’t my fluent language. I turn back into my mirror image and the monster crawls forth into deep slumber as I douse myself in daylight. I’ve only ever felt comfortable talking in the dark, there’s no evidence if you can’t see my lips move. Hello I’m alive; I want to build my world out of half secret words mumbled in the blue-light. I want to pour wax over everything and mold out the pretend pages. I’ll mold a city out for you. Maybe even a city that's black on black. I’ll give you tunnels made from coke bottles so you can always see the sky while your footsteps echo in the crystal glass chambers. I’ll build you mountains so high you can hear the clouds pouring their hearts out each to each to each. They will give you every story I couldn't tell you when my mouth was doused in daylight.