The coffee slides down my throat,
Straight shot to my vines, an imitation of alive,
My hearts too preoccupied to do its job
Busy singing a siren song about a guy
Who didn't want me
Doesn't miss me
And won't
The anxiety of that truth slithers around my neck at night, stealing my rest
As the memories of his touch haunt my mind, circling on repeat, whispering 'almost'
I didn't know him long enough for it to feel this way
Heartache is for the splits of duration not the barely begun
But
Here I am
In withdrawal of him and all we could have been
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
The coffee slides down my throat,
Straight shot to my vines, an imitation of alive,
My hearts too preoccupied to do its job
Busy singing a siren song about a guy
Who didn't want me
Doesn't miss me
And won't
The anxiety of that truth slithers around my neck at night, stealing my rest
As the memories of his touch haunt my mind, circling on repeat, whispering 'almost'
I didn't know him long enough for it to feel this way
Heartache is for the splits of duration not the barely begun
But
Here I am
In withdrawal of him and all we could have been
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