I don't want my words to be prisoners.
I demand for them to be unchained from the confines of these pages,
to take the first shaky steps towards peeling themselves from pulp and ink
and into the third dimension.
I want my feelings to follow and tread down
the well-beaten path I have walked on my entire life,
and eventually plant themselves in other people's minds,
phantoms dwelling dormant in their existences.
I crave to hear the sounds of my deepest desires
bounce off the echoing walls of deep mountain valleys,
snaking through streams and disappearing
into the gaps between grains of sand.
But it was one thing to let everyone hear me whisper.
All I really wanted was only for you to hear.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
I don't want my words to be prisoners.
I demand for them to be unchained from the confines of these pages,
to take the first shaky steps towards peeling themselves from pulp and ink
and into the third dimension.
I want my feelings to follow and tread down
the well-beaten path I have walked on my entire life,
and eventually plant themselves in other people's minds,
phantoms dwelling dormant in their existences.
I crave to hear the sounds of my deepest desires
bounce off the echoing walls of deep mountain valleys,
snaking through streams and disappearing
into the gaps between grains of sand.
But it was one thing to let everyone hear me whisper.
All I really wanted was only for you to hear.
