we laid on the bed and didn't touch.
i wanted you to hold me but i was afraid you'd catch this disease i have, apathy.
insomnia and heartache are synonyms,
you told me.
everything looks different in the dark.
you think you know your heart until the blackout illuminates a new one entirely.
i told you i was afraid and you wrote a lullaby down my spine.
that's not right.
everything is different in the dark.
you didn't touch me.
i forgot you didn't touch me.
the loaded question was on your lips as i pressed mine to yours. bang.
kissing doesn't count as touching but you stopped me anyway.
it was raining cats and dogs and you told me to lighten up or it would never stop.
i choked on your tongue and you called it a laugh.
silence is an accent i wish more people had.
you didn't say anything.
you didn't touch me.