The piece that fits the hole.
The air that fills the gaps in my soul -
Pressed against the vacuous space that pulls gravity towards sorrow.
What if I told you that my bones are hollow,
Because how else could I fly?
Blow beneath these feathered wings -
Lift me high above tomorrow.
I swear we'll never die.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
The piece that fits the hole.
The air that fills the gaps in my soul -
Pressed against the vacuous space that pulls gravity towards sorrow.
What if I told you that my bones are hollow,
Because how else could I fly?
Blow beneath these feathered wings -
Lift me high above tomorrow.
I swear we'll never die.
Shared skies soared through time.
