Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2011
Lingering touch, you know far too much to mean nothing.
Your words are fatal, ******* me into the middle, driving their implications into my thoughts.
Labeling movements, define our lies, making false truths.
I search for you in my anger, not looking far, knowing you are out of my reach.
Our apologies like hymns are recited everyday.
Like fire in brush, this all happens in a hush.
Kyla
Written by
Kyla
635
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems