(no subject)
All i ask is that every once in a while you pull me out of your little jar and set me back up on your nightstand, so i can serenade you again. I never sang a song for you that I didn't feel boiling in my stomache first, begging to pour out in waves of crooked sound. The false notes rang true regardless of law, because love saturated the air and your ears.
I miss the frale structures of mutual concepts floating above our heads as we walked aimlessly together. Up, there is that halo of tree's we grew with our lips and in fall it revealed it's bones, but we had only shaken, there was no autumn. We believed it was dead and so we burned it, and with a strong grip the roots wrap around my brain tissue.
There are still verses I'd written while at sea, waiting crash into familiar shore. They were written in hopes of being the beginning of our lips moving again, and the dust falling off our unused eyes. Even now after I've walked with you again I keep them deep in my pocket, and now it seems they will stay there forever, eating away at my jeans
Until every verse is a reflection of an empty shell, until every clumsy note i strum falls to the floor and shadders. I will never fly again. I am chained to an old tree and the only sonnets from me come in the shape of a raindrop, and all i can fucking taste is salt.
I miss the frale structures of mutual concepts floating above our heads as we walked aimlessly together. Up, there is that halo of tree's we grew with our lips and in fall it revealed it's bones, but we had only shaken, there was no autumn. We believed it was dead and so we burned it, and with a strong grip the roots wrap around my brain tissue.
There are still verses I'd written while at sea, waiting crash into familiar shore. They were written in hopes of being the beginning of our lips moving again, and the dust falling off our unused eyes. Even now after I've walked with you again I keep them deep in my pocket, and now it seems they will stay there forever, eating away at my jeans
Until every verse is a reflection of an empty shell, until every clumsy note i strum falls to the floor and shadders. I will never fly again. I am chained to an old tree and the only sonnets from me come in the shape of a raindrop, and all i can fucking taste is salt.