Translation
Verzweiflung
Despair
[i]The revolver snapped back in his hand, staining him with blood and staining his arms red.
He had done it.
Her smile was so beautiful he wished he could capture it and put it on her lips forever.
But he didn't have that power.
He was too weak.
He could never hold her in the hours of emptiness, never bed her fragile body in warmth, make her close.
It broke.
Every day a new leap in that glassy smile.
Every day a new trail of streaked black mascara on her pale cheeks, tears he couldn't stop.
If he reached out his hands to her, they would not reach her.
She used to be his whirlwind, his angel, his lover.
She was his life.
But now, now everything was different.
She slowly destroyed the world.
Crushed his girl to a background of laughter and blame.
And there was nothing he could do about it, just watch helplessly as his loved one plunged into the abyss every day anew.
If he had been able, he would above all have locked them, wrapped them in velvet, laid them on pillows and no longer exposed them to life outside.
But she never let herself be chained, not even for her own good.
She got up again and again, after every fall, after every day of endless suffering.
He heard her cry herself to sleep at night and saw how she put on her broken smile the next morning.
A perfect copy of her former self played like an empty puppet, limbs hanging lifelessly on the floor.
And he saw the life in her eyes fade, with every tear falling to the floor, wet and shiny. Hugging death with every tear, full of longing and love.
Love that was no longer for him.
She tore his heart in two with every glance, with every word that fell from her lips.
It was a threat, a plea, a plea, carried to his ear with a whisper. Pelting down on him softly, like icy rain, relentless and painful.
Because she wanted redemption.
[i]His world broke, broke into a thousand pieces and fell to the ground with a clang.
The revolver snapped back in his hand, staining him with blood and staining his arms red.
He did it.
Now she could sleep without fear of the next morning.
(c) caperpri
He had done it.
Her smile was so beautiful he wished he could capture it and put it on her lips forever.
But he didn't have that power.
He was too weak.
He could never hold her in the hours of emptiness, never bed her fragile body in warmth, make her close.
It broke.
Every day a new leap in that glassy smile.
Every day a new trail of streaked black mascara on her pale cheeks, tears he couldn't stop.
If he reached out his hands to her, they would not reach her.
She used to be his whirlwind, his angel, his lover.
She was his life.
But now, now everything was different.
She slowly destroyed the world.
Crushed his girl to a background of laughter and blame.
And there was nothing he could do about it, just watch helplessly as his loved one plunged into the abyss every day anew.
If he had been able, he would above all have locked them, wrapped them in velvet, laid them on pillows and no longer exposed them to life outside.
But she never let herself be chained, not even for her own good.
She got up again and again, after every fall, after every day of endless suffering.
He heard her cry herself to sleep at night and saw how she put on her broken smile the next morning.
A perfect copy of her former self played like an empty puppet, limbs hanging lifelessly on the floor.
And he saw the life in her eyes fade, with every tear falling to the floor, wet and shiny. Hugging death with every tear, full of longing and love.
Love that was no longer for him.
She tore his heart in two with every glance, with every word that fell from her lips.
It was a threat, a plea, a plea, carried to his ear with a whisper. Pelting down on him softly, like icy rain, relentless and painful.
Because she wanted redemption.
[i]His world broke, broke into a thousand pieces and fell to the ground with a clang.
The revolver snapped back in his hand, staining him with blood and staining his arms red.
He did it.
Now she could sleep without fear of the next morning.
(c) caperpri