Can you run,
Your softened fingers,
Along the outskirts,
Of my brittle bones.
Push them down,
Until they jut out,
And pierce through,
My cracking skin.
Can you hold,
My head under,
The murky depts,
Of darkened water.
Sew my bleeding,
Lips together,
And make sure,
I cannot breathe.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Can you run,
Your softened fingers,
Along the outskirts,
Of my brittle bones.
Push them down,
Until they jut out,
And pierce through,
My cracking skin.
Can you hold,
My head under,
The murky depts,
Of darkened water.
Sew my bleeding,
Lips together,
And make sure,
I cannot breathe.
