I would like to have a moment,
with you
behind the locked door.
See, this voice of yours
its made my vision sore.
Red and Swollen around the image
of you that is too heavy
and I don't want to carry it around anymore.
Ive made promises.
Like
your face will never reach
the indention of my ink.
But you know,
the funny thing about promises
is
they to
are too heavy.
They sink,
all
the
way
down
to the depths
of the front step
of that spelled door
You are locked behind.
I wouldn't mind
if I couldn't hear you singing...
You pull my memories to the floor,
and you scatter them around
that door
A Mind Field
explosive to the
thought.
Its funny
cause ironically
thats how I don't get caught...
turning the ****
It was
never
suppose to be
my job.
To lock you out.
Somehow,
I know...
The distance between us,
is in vain.
But, if I let you open,
I will be slain...
by the stare
and
the edges of black hair.
Song would boom and blair,
and shake every corner
of sense
I have left to bare.
Player
of my soul song...
It is only spelled
because
it is you who casts it.
By
hums.
And strums
at the heels
of my steps..
that echo
As I leave you,
behind the spelled door
once more.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
I would like to have a moment,
with you
behind the locked door.
See, this voice of yours
its made my vision sore.
Red and Swollen around the image
of you that is too heavy
and I don't want to carry it around anymore.
Ive made promises.
Like
your face will never reach
the indention of my ink.
But you know,
the funny thing about promises
is
they to
are too heavy.
They sink,
all
the
way
down
to the depths
of the front step
of that spelled door
You are locked behind.
I wouldn't mind
if I couldn't hear you singing...
You pull my memories to the floor,
and you scatter them around
that door
A Mind Field
explosive to the
thought.
Its funny
cause ironically
thats how I don't get caught...
turning the ****
It was
never
suppose to be
my job.
To lock you out.
Somehow,
I know...
The distance between us,
is in vain.
But, if I let you open,
I will be slain...
by the stare
and
the edges of black hair.
Song would boom and blair,
and shake every corner
of sense
I have left to bare.
Player
of my soul song...
It is only spelled
because
it is you who casts it.
By
hums.
And strums
at the heels
of my steps..
that echo
As I leave you,
behind the spelled door
once more.
