ACT I
Cold hands in an unstarry night,
an unknown murderer in need of a light.
A broken blanket, the hands are still cold.
I roll down the hill, you wait for the storm.
The clouds go away, I want them to stay.
ACT II
Your voice becomes an echo.
Like a thunder in the distance.
Then I get it, just with a glance...
You were the storm I was under.
ACT III
I light your death, my hands are warm.
I never needed your embrace at all.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC
You can either feel the coldness
of my words of ice
slipping through
these snow white pages
or feel my burning chest
melting the frozen stare
you're holding.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 2:44 PM UTC
How come I can't stay focused?
I tend to overthink...
What is it that is making me waste all this ink?
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 9:43 AM UTC
In the distance, I observe
hoping to discover them raw feelings
our souls serve.
Sometimes without even warning us.
We fall but we don't break,
and when we break we feel
like we're falling.
Always in the distance,
I observe.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 2:42 PM UTC
These words stuck on this paper
would rather come to live
to reach their only owner
and make him pay the price
for all the scars created,
although that means they healed...
these words you make me write,
they're secrets now revealed
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 2:40 PM UTC