Her vitals are dropping like flies
The air in the room is staler than bread
Everyone here is a critic of sorts
Amidst curtains and curtains of black, sunken eyes
Her dreams are breaking like stone
The table beside her is colder than ice
She feels love on her arm but can’t love it back
Can only see curtains of palpable bones
So meager, her breath, it drops.
Falls flat.
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 1:41 AM UTC
Her vitals are dropping like flies
The air in the room is staler than bread
Everyone here is a critic of sorts
Amidst curtains and curtains of black, sunken eyes
Her dreams are breaking like stone
The table beside her is colder than ice
She feels love on her arm but can’t love it back
Can only see curtains of palpable bones
So meager, her breath, it drops.
Falls flat.