De(spite) All Efforts

The side of his house was painted gold with all of the promises that he had made to himself... and was peeling with the ones that he broke to others.

Her parents named her Hallelujah, but she made everyone call her Holly. Her blackened eyelashes were clogged with stories that her wrists were too torn to tell.

Atop the tragic drone of his words and the piano that he struggles with, she claims that this is not love. Frustrated, he stops long enough to remind her that this love is a dangerous habit, and that they should do their best to enjoy the challenge. Whether they choose to believe it or not, they are their own fix. Their bodies remain paused in their struggle to find love, while the world below moves on.

Days have passed as she wakes first with blurry morning eyes that just want somebody there. The dirt on the window seems to signify the way that the sun will never shine on their skin the same way again. You never really see the picture clearly until you're out of it. Life in the form of a Georges-Pierre Seurat masterpiece.

The vertical split in the curtains makes up for the lack of spine on his back. The stories he can't tell reveal themselves in the way he slurs and stutters excuses into the pillow. Whispers against ears that know better but perk up anyway. Her heart ticks like a makeshift time bomb. A quivering cache on the wavering justice scales. Is it enough, is it enough?