May 2014
I'm sitting here all alone
Writing ****** poetry
On my cellphone
Listening to Depeche Mode
Thinking about a forgotten time
That feels too long ago
When this house was a home
Where these scars were formed
And how they never healed
And sometimes I wonder
If they ever will
Writing ****** poetry
On my cellphone
Listening to Depeche Mode
Thinking about a forgotten time
That feels too long ago
When this house was a home
Where these scars were formed
And how they never healed
And sometimes I wonder
If they ever will
Don't take this for anymore than words that flowed together. There are only two truths: I'm writing ****** poetry and listening to Depeche Mode.
(On the edge of your taste)
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