Learned from the pain...

It's a purple threaded evening. A torn god is laying on the roof. The sky is milky. The lavender hued moon shines against hot asphalt. The thickness of the evening presses into his throat. Polaroids taped to the ceiling. Ivy pouring out of the cracks in the wall. He found his courage buried beneath molding books and forgot to lock the door behind him. The old house never forgets. He opened his mouth and a dandelion fell out. Reached behind his tongue and found sopping wet seeds. Pulled all of his teeth out just to say he could. He drowned himself in a bottle of whiskey and the orange really brought out his demise. Lay him down on a bed of ground spices. There's a song there; he know's it. Amethyst geode eyes. Cracked open. No one saw it coming. November never loved him. The moon still doesn’t understand that.