how to grieve in pastel

our future was held hostage so we made out own
swimming through the recycled filth of modernity we stitched together fragments and fragrances of beautiful things
where context was destroyed we created our own, passing our creations along with stories of love and triumph, defeat and decay, but always looking pretty while doing it

aesthetics born out of the feeling of comforting someone while you both know that neither of you have the answers, that it will only get worse
aesthetics born out of a language with no grammar, one whose screams are unrecognizable even to itself
aesthetics born out of a love for the majesty of ghosts and what they held dear
aesthetics aborted
we called it art, they called it imitation
they called it degeneracy, we called it love

if the goal of fashion is to die and be reborn, than let us be  the necromancers of futurity, carving crevices in our shared private hell and painting its ruins with the beautiful blood of corpses

i just wish i was who i want to be. i wish i wasn't me. i wish i wasn't here. i just want to escape.

grieving in hues of pastel blue
breathing with you