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Jan 2013
I felt you kiss the back of my neck,
there was nothing there,
just a lack of respect.
And somewhere in your illicit, dulcet tone,
I found the sweetest sympathy of home,
and i found myself walkling back to you.
I heard your voice,
I felt my pain,
I whisphered, a thousand times the same,
Thoughts drifting through my head..
Is this really us?
Are we not dead?
And still i reply with a smile on my face
that nothing you can do will erase,
and with my sweetest tipped monotone
i wipe my hands and make for home.
And how i wish, this was not me or you,
it wasn't something you'd do,
that i could just be there and never far,
never following that elusive star.
And a thousand times i scream your name,
but this is not me
i am not the same,
Every breath i give, heavy and lost,
I gave up your kiss
and felt the cost.
And my head is weary, my hands are tired
my thoughts drift
exacting and wired.
I expected less-little, no more...
and still your breath upon my neck,
I drop my head and close my eyes
forgive myself and all those i despise
Me, us, them and you
there is nothing to prove,
nothing to do, no running away
let me learn to walk before i learn to stay.
And with each brusied moment, each repetitive tone
i take my words to worship at home
as i have no disfigurement, no-one can see this loss
but i wish there was something
but there are no what if's, what now or buts,
there are no scars, there are no cuts,
there is no wonderment or lust
I just wanted to take you here, take you there
hold your hand
feel the weight of your stare
I swallow my breath, i sing your name
i dance in circles around you
and still i'm the same
and how can i end this?
what is appropriate at this time?
I tell the truth, i swallow my rhyme
and on bended knee, dirtied and torn
i forge through the night
close my eyes
and dream of you, and being reborn
Rachael Stainthorpe
Written by
Rachael Stainthorpe  Huddersfield
(Huddersfield)   
844
 
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