The pressure of your lips
The dirt on my tongue..
It all tasted the same.
I never knew what it would be like
To feel hollow
Until my knees crumbled
And the floor became my home.
The wind was never
A good friend of mine;
It only whispered under the sun
But whipped when I was bare.
And I'm starting to wonder
If that foreshadowed
The way our hearts
Are always in the wrong place
At the wrong time.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
The pressure of your lips
The dirt on my tongue..
It all tasted the same.
I never knew what it would be like
To feel hollow
Until my knees crumbled
And the floor became my home.
The wind was never
A good friend of mine;
It only whispered under the sun
But whipped when I was bare.
And I'm starting to wonder
If that foreshadowed
The way our hearts
Are always in the wrong place
At the wrong time.
