I have not seen the month of May.
I have not seen the sun.
You have seen all my shades of grey.
You are the optimistic one.
My bed feels like a quiet tomb.
My bedroom is a cage.
Your eyes so bright they light the room.
And melt away my rage.
My skin feels hot and dry and old.
My mind is filled with skies unclear.
Your hand is the one I hold.
Yet your soft cheek holds a tear.
I fear that I could lose your heart.
As I tear myself apart.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
I have not seen the month of May.
I have not seen the sun.
You have seen all my shades of grey.
You are the optimistic one.
My bed feels like a quiet tomb.
My bedroom is a cage.
Your eyes so bright they light the room.
And melt away my rage.
My skin feels hot and dry and old.
My mind is filled with skies unclear.
Your hand is the one I hold.
Yet your soft cheek holds a tear.
I fear that I could lose your heart.
As I tear myself apart.
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