Trying to write,
only feeling past ones filter through,
wondering if anything new sits under my tongue, crawls behind my ears,
shelters.
Shelters.
Yes, I think I shelter the wounded.
I love saving people, figure this is
the only way they could love me,
as if their love for me was worth their life.
I have saved a lot,
and it flips as well.
The one, my only for a year,
she sent me to the hospital when I was threatening to burst, to sicken the knife, to split the tongue.
I'll get over it.
Split my chest, sent me reeling, sent me screaming on the floor
as a white-blind result of affairs that are proven, saved in photographic form.
They are forgiven,
and I am free.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
Trying to write,
only feeling past ones filter through,
wondering if anything new sits under my tongue, crawls behind my ears,
shelters.
Shelters.
Yes, I think I shelter the wounded.
I love saving people, figure this is
the only way they could love me,
as if their love for me was worth their life.
I have saved a lot,
and it flips as well.
The one, my only for a year,
she sent me to the hospital when I was threatening to burst, to sicken the knife, to split the tongue.
I'll get over it.
Split my chest, sent me reeling, sent me screaming on the floor
as a white-blind result of affairs that are proven, saved in photographic form.
They are forgiven,
and I am free.
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