By Arcassin Burnham

Pretending I am kissing the lips that
I am missing,
Love is at its peril if you think that I'll
be skipping,
Out on you.

Pressure builds up like receipt listings,
Thinking your Gonna leave me one day
And have me crying,
Not over you.

Love will be dying slow right now
because of the betrayal,
Peace in a hot dinner plate , I will not
Let it go stale,
Words I'll send to you.