These scars are brush strokes of another girls despair.
She spent Summer nights drawing lines between myself and her,
The warmth on her back the only memory left in a cardboard box of misery;
It reminded her she was alive,
A reminder she longed to delete in a shrinking phonebook that breathed out numbers to balance her life.
Lost and found in a pound of broken daydreams.
Each time I catch someones stare I remember her fractured smile,
The only tie I have left that I cannot cut.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 7:28 AM UTC
These scars are brush strokes of another girls despair.
She spent Summer nights drawing lines between myself and her,
The warmth on her back the only memory left in a cardboard box of misery;
It reminded her she was alive,
A reminder she longed to delete in a shrinking phonebook that breathed out numbers to balance her life.
Lost and found in a pound of broken daydreams.
Each time I catch someones stare I remember her fractured smile,
The only tie I have left that I cannot cut.
