I can still see you in the dark
and as I trace your silhoutte on my wall,
you juggle your last piece of
cigarette between your fingers--
disregarding the heat.
I can still feel you in the wind
with your scent that draws
all the girls in town to you
or even when you smell like alcohol
and fall from your seat.
I can still write down your name
when I thought my pens
grew tired of bleeding for you
and now my blank sheets will be your tomb--
keep them marking on repeat.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
I can still see you in the dark
and as I trace your silhoutte on my wall,
you juggle your last piece of
cigarette between your fingers--
disregarding the heat.
I can still feel you in the wind
with your scent that draws
all the girls in town to you
or even when you smell like alcohol
and fall from your seat.
I can still write down your name
when I thought my pens
grew tired of bleeding for you
and now my blank sheets will be your tomb--
keep them marking on repeat.
