The words I have for you don't quite match up to the expected doses:
I see the sickness on your cheeks and the paint peeling from your lungs..
One hundred thousand syllables scattered across one hundred thousand paths your own,
And no one could match that; you best be in the know of how I'm sorry for the lack of hours passed..
These crooked lines of sound spilling from my mouth never say quite enough..
Words can never measure up to the truths behind the 'thank yous' and the 'there will be one day's,
But a variety of years have sped on by, and awe lingers as I hope to never see your back
(It's not like you to crave this with longing slithering through the cracks of your ribcage,
I have hands already held, so just breathe)
I fulfill promises with expectations soaring,
But I've always been the one who steps off the roof...