As you read the words,
I have written about,
The circles under my eyes,
The bruises on my skin,
Oh, all these stories,
Of my cold, little heart.
I wonder what image of me,
Shows up on the screen,
At the back of your mind,
In greyscale or in the filter fade,
As your lips mouth out,
The words that could never slip off mine.
I wonder if you think,
Of the words you have read,
Written from the tip of my pen,
Typed out from the keys of the alphabet,
Sung along to a four chord strum,
As you pause yourself from the occupied.
I wonder if my words,
Ever made you look back through the pages,
Of the books you have read,
And had you started on something new,
For people had words as skin,
And you needed quotes for tattoos.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
As you read the words,
I have written about,
The circles under my eyes,
The bruises on my skin,
Oh, all these stories,
Of my cold, little heart.
I wonder what image of me,
Shows up on the screen,
At the back of your mind,
In greyscale or in the filter fade,
As your lips mouth out,
The words that could never slip off mine.
I wonder if you think,
Of the words you have read,
Written from the tip of my pen,
Typed out from the keys of the alphabet,
Sung along to a four chord strum,
As you pause yourself from the occupied.
I wonder if my words,
Ever made you look back through the pages,
Of the books you have read,
And had you started on something new,
For people had words as skin,
And you needed quotes for tattoos.
#2
© 2015 Izzah Batrisyia
