they were alike, you see.
the girl with wild eyes who stalked the streets at night.
the boy with translucent skin and a haunted gait.
lusting after the pretty boys who looked right through them.
chasing anti-depressants with rum and falling
down
down
down
and hitting the floor
sometimes together,
more often alone.
they weren't made to be loved.
they were pitied or hated but
never anything more.
and so they took
solace
in each other's arms.
because they were so fucking broken.
but they clung together
for sanity,
for hope,
for the scraps of affection
that they had always been denied.
and they wept,
sometimes for each other,
but mostly for themselves.
red lipstick smeared against his neck
and stubble rubbed and burned around her lips
as they grew as dead
as one can be
while still breathing.
they remained unchanged
all their lives,
because it's impossible
to fix what has been shattered
when no one cares to pick up the pieces.