SundaysTo recreate this past Sunday;To recreate and relive it every day,I'd throw everything else away.The toxic things that fill our lungsMake the kisses just that much sweeter,A small-scale model of impending misery;A misery that could not come,If life was comprised of hazy, smoke-filled, ash-ridden Sundays.And when the Sunday of bonfires grew tiresome, We'd create a new one;A Sunday of walking through toxic forestsAnd sharing more toxic kisses,Toxic kisses that will have no consequencesBecause there are no Mondays.No Mondays full of uncertainty and unneccesary tears.No Thursdays or Fridays drenched in blood-red paran
The strong reds really accent your pale skin....
Amazing