You could never feel my story.
Every word written in between the lines.
Scrawled in the deepest shades of my morality.

I'll hand you a box, full of my darkness.

It'll be years before you realize, this was a gift, to understand my story.

I wish I was his cigarette,
Have him breathe me in so deeply
Wrap his lovely lips around me
Set fire to me, And
Burn
Slowly for him
To be the thing he holds
In his artful hand
Oh, what a lucky thing
That cigarette

I can't touch you
By time and space
I can't kiss you
Or feel the whiskers on your face
I can't make love with you
That part, aches
But for your heart
I'd do whatever it takes
Fate is so cruel
Because of that, I cry
But I'm going to keep you
In the folds of my eternity,
the blue of my sky