Goth

her lips the color of a bruise
she takes imaginary sky walks 
has roadside conversations with 
strangers about the things we lock
inside ourselves for too long
like how cemeteries are far more
sad in December and you hold 
your breath a little deeper 
when you walk by

but pain is a good thing
she says
reminds you of who you were
who you never want to be
again
and the roses are dying

she believes in every sky
she's ever inhaled
every dream she ever dreamed
every prayer she took time to
pray
she's not running away

she can tell you 
how to end up lonely
but she wouldn't advise it