Broken,
shattered and scarred.
the theatre lights dim
and the exit light glows
like evil eyes among the canvas of black.
the black and white celluloid love story
the broken-hearted gasping for adoration
oh, how he fawns over her.
The beautiful tragedies of misanthropic romantics
dressed in cloak and hat
waltzing through emotional distress.
”We’ll always have Paris”,
he quips with parted lips
as she prays that that he’ll never leave her
the beautiful bliss they shared
and believed would last forever
is fast approaching it’s end.
”Here’s looking at you kid”
over-dramatized, vague and distant
glycerin tears of heartbreak and regret
breakdown as the end credits roll
they knew every word
like an overplayed pop song.
what’s cliché now
was once mystical.
What love is now
was once only pulp fiction.
Oh, Ilsa, will he ever return to you?
Oh, Ilsa, only the screenwriters know for sure.
(el.)
edit1:
i just don't get it. is it "scene" to be completely dim-witted? just because you listen to bad music and have a stupid haircut doesn't mean you have to act like you have a decimal for an IQ.
edit2:
i'm a horrible person.
edit3:
ebonyhearts: FEEL THE WRATH OF REBEKAH'S ERINISM
edit4:
i hate the summer.
edit5:
my eyes are bleeding.
edit6:
i'm re-writing my script.
if anyone wants to help, i'd love you forever and ever and ever and ever2
edit7:
I love to see a rainbow from a garden hose
lit up like the blood of a centerfold
I love the city and the city rain,
suburban kids with biblical names.
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