I don't know how to say this,
What mincing words to write
I wish that I could write it,
And it wouldn't sound so trite.
I wish it all made sense again,
Like so long it used to do.
I could have kept my happy thoughts,
And you could have them, too.
There are mortal wounds appearing
In the love that we professed,
And a heart that's barely beating
All alone within my chest.
I locked the door so softly,
So you wouldn't hear it click.
And I know the clock is counting,
Though I cannot hear it tick.
My muse is pain, she writes my song,
I'm so firmly in her grasp,
You've fallen for a poets love...
A slowly closing trap.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
I don't know how to say this,
What mincing words to write
I wish that I could write it,
And it wouldn't sound so trite.
I wish it all made sense again,
Like so long it used to do.
I could have kept my happy thoughts,
And you could have them, too.
There are mortal wounds appearing
In the love that we professed,
And a heart that's barely beating
All alone within my chest.
I locked the door so softly,
So you wouldn't hear it click.
And I know the clock is counting,
Though I cannot hear it tick.
My muse is pain, she writes my song,
I'm so firmly in her grasp,
You've fallen for a poets love...
A slowly closing trap.
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