May 2014
My fingers itch in so many ways—
They wish to touch the stars;
They long to play my soul's heartsong,
And strive to sketch my scars.
They wish to touch the stars;
They long to play my soul's heartsong,
And strive to sketch my scars.
Sometimes they urge to clutch a knife
And hold it to my chest;
But most of all they long to hold my love—
The one who knows me best.
And hold it to my chest;
But most of all they long to hold my love—
The one who knows me best.
