These marks upon my hands from clinging on too tight
Whilst I clutched onto the lamp I held that lonely night
As I saw lines upon your face and knew you as tired
Your senses lost as you walked blindly past lamp fire
You walked slowly, eyes open, but closed
Pale cheeks replacing the ones that were rose
All things done awake, but asleep
My trembling fingers and heavy feet daring to creep
Wood floor creaking with each step you took
Turning as if memory with glazed, unflinching look
Into the kitchen, as in sleep, you took the knife
And with a plunge of a knife and the crash of a lamp, I bade my last goodnight
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 10:20 AM UTC
These marks upon my hands from clinging on too tight
Whilst I clutched onto the lamp I held that lonely night
As I saw lines upon your face and knew you as tired
Your senses lost as you walked blindly past lamp fire
You walked slowly, eyes open, but closed
Pale cheeks replacing the ones that were rose
All things done awake, but asleep
My trembling fingers and heavy feet daring to creep
Wood floor creaking with each step you took
Turning as if memory with glazed, unflinching look
Into the kitchen, as in sleep, you took the knife
And with a plunge of a knife and the crash of a lamp, I bade my last goodnight
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