Sleeping on the River.

The sky was getting darker by the second. The sun was falling down. The moon was catapulted up. It all happened in slow motion. Two people slow danced to slow music. A man and a woman. They danced on a live beating heart. They took dainty steps and looked perfectly happy. I could see the face of the woman, clear as crystal. Her eyes were a swimmind pool of colour her eyelashes fluttered when she blinked. Her warm features and her smile that melted me to a puddle of goop. I knew this face all too well. The man had no face. Just a sheer white shape of a face his neck.

They slow danced on a heart. The woman wore a dazzling gown, shimmering with the colours of a rainbow. She wore pretty high heels the punctured the heart as they stepped. They made  fountians of a thick crimson liquid. They danced around the fountians, the liquid not once staining them, for it was impure. The man was there. He never left. The man did nothing but thump his leather shoes on the surface. I have trouble remembering him. The woman however, was a vivid memory. The dance continued, the torment continued. For many nights and days I couldn't sleep. I was enchanted by what I saw. I thought. I wondered. I remembered.

If heartache was a physical thing
I could face it
I could face it
Ih you're hurting me
Inside of my head
I can't take it
I can't take it.

I still can't sleep.