failing to see my mistakes
is holding you against my back
we are memoirs with curved edges
we are hollow when we speak
my reflection is clear
and concise with words i dread
like the afternoon
we forgot how to hold each other
we were broken pieces
in jars of clay
ready to unfold
our unkept promises
to be broken down again
i have not thought of loving
for weeks i run passed
my days
an endless train
of emotionless
tattered thoughts
i am ready
to be filled again
and down goes my desires
i am more than seeking the feeling
of having a hand to hold
reaching for somebody close,
or pass the time with
another entity, another soul
to play disguise with
i am at the gates
and i am holding them open
with my cold, bare hands.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 5:45 AM UTC
failing to see my mistakes
is holding you against my back
we are memoirs with curved edges
we are hollow when we speak
my reflection is clear
and concise with words i dread
like the afternoon
we forgot how to hold each other
we were broken pieces
in jars of clay
ready to unfold
our unkept promises
to be broken down again
i have not thought of loving
for weeks i run passed
my days
an endless train
of emotionless
tattered thoughts
i am ready
to be filled again
and down goes my desires
i am more than seeking the feeling
of having a hand to hold
reaching for somebody close,
or pass the time with
another entity, another soul
to play disguise with
i am at the gates
and i am holding them open
with my cold, bare hands.