Of tired eyes...
Of tired eyes and purple lips, there’s anger hidden behind the windows. They look around. They can not see. The window awaits for me, his tired lips await for me. Maims my throat to break purple glasses of arid lips. My vocal cords can not stand. The door laughing. Rivers of salt hidden in his eyes. A needle traversing the glass prison. He stabs. He does not kill. Broken glass would receive me, His purple lips and tired eyes... His lips tired my shattered throat. And I would fly.