Wednesday, 30 March 2016

It is dark and comforting, the silence of leaves and the drenched buildings. I can’t remember the last time my skin was tattered and pale, tired trembling fingers. There is no sound, wooden floors don’t creak, empty shelves stay still and then it sinks in, like a ghost, your absence and the shimmering blackness is gone and my nerves carry me away like waves towards emptiness.

Maybe I’ll mourn tonight for all the bad decisions, and I’ll draw your face on thin lines of doubt and fear and I’ll carve my lies along with your empty signs and I’ll set fire tonight for all the days that went up in smoke waiting for sweet nothings.

You’re a dead end and a sure beginning

Honey, Damn you.


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