The thought of this is too heavy.
It weighs on my brain.
It washes out my eyes.
It dances along the tight rope that is my shoulders.
It tips and sways and lingers on my finger tips and my bones and leaves space where there is damp darkness.
It drains the pink in my cheeks and replaces it with a heavy hollow.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
The thought of this is too heavy.
It weighs on my brain.
It washes out my eyes.
It dances along the tight rope that is my shoulders.
It tips and sways and lingers on my finger tips and my bones and leaves space where there is damp darkness.
It drains the pink in my cheeks and replaces it with a heavy hollow.
