maring; night
lost in the green my wrist is grabbed;
steps cracking white to rubble underneath
four flights and the sky is here,
an attic with winding book cases-
i'm bruising and smiling.
running without losing our breaths through
these hallways we've never seen,
secrets in a decades long home.
an attic of mystery, literature,
a man that looks but 13-
if i could debase reality i would know in the
20 years to come you were not to be trusted.
good will with ill intentions and a sheepish smile,
skinny wrists make it seem okay-
but physical strength doesn't overturn the
repercussions of trusting you.
teenagers running the secret halls of hopes and
what
seems
like the end of all things,
just to be reminded by these wrinkled sheets you left
rolled over and lids opened.
steps cracking white to rubble underneath
four flights and the sky is here,
an attic with winding book cases-
i'm bruising and smiling.
running without losing our breaths through
these hallways we've never seen,
secrets in a decades long home.
an attic of mystery, literature,
a man that looks but 13-
if i could debase reality i would know in the
20 years to come you were not to be trusted.
good will with ill intentions and a sheepish smile,
skinny wrists make it seem okay-
but physical strength doesn't overturn the
repercussions of trusting you.
teenagers running the secret halls of hopes and
what
seems
like the end of all things,
just to be reminded by these wrinkled sheets you left
rolled over and lids opened.