It would make sense for me to tell you how I placed you in a box,
in the corners of my mind,
within solidarity,
in an untouchable reach.
Exasperated breaths of words that push and pull through my lungs,
but yet,
not quite make it.
You always told me that you were the corners,
the air in which I allow.
But I'm stuck here,
in the center of a box,
suffocating.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
It would make sense for me to tell you how I placed you in a box,
in the corners of my mind,
within solidarity,
in an untouchable reach.
Exasperated breaths of words that push and pull through my lungs,
but yet,
not quite make it.
You always told me that you were the corners,
the air in which I allow.
But I'm stuck here,
in the center of a box,
suffocating.
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