My hands weren’t sweating when I said it.
I will never write a love song.
It never seemed like anyone could see
past the pink
swirly
fogging their eyes.
How pathetic.
But cheerios get soggy
when I look away this long
and I wrote my first melody
because of your swirly eyes.
*They’re so much darker,
like rotted leaves.*
And second,
third,
(voice cracking, echoing)
my fingertips
are splitting over these strings.
Fourth-
palpating vibrations killing the me
I’d thought furthest through.
I swear,
I wont crack as hard this time, but-
I can’t tie my shoelaces
without tearing flower petals,
so I walk around stumbling,
falling
into pretty girls.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC
My hands weren’t sweating when I said it.
I will never write a love song.
It never seemed like anyone could see
past the pink
swirly
fogging their eyes.
How pathetic.
But cheerios get soggy
when I look away this long
and I wrote my first melody
because of your swirly eyes.
*They’re so much darker,
like rotted leaves.*
And second,
third,
(voice cracking, echoing)
my fingertips
are splitting over these strings.
Fourth-
palpating vibrations killing the me
I’d thought furthest through.
I swear,
I wont crack as hard this time, but-
I can’t tie my shoelaces
without tearing flower petals,
so I walk around stumbling,
falling
into pretty girls.
