My dreams of you are (have become) a heavy blanket:
a lie to bathe by, a comfort I drown in.
As every radio static memory blends into infinite color.
It becomes so hard to imagine that you were always really there.
And worn as I am, can you hear them?
And now I am, so afraid.
With silent anticipation,
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 10:23 PM UTC
My dreams of you are (have become) a heavy blanket:
a lie to bathe by, a comfort I drown in.
As every radio static memory blends into infinite color.
It becomes so hard to imagine that you were always really there.
And worn as I am, can you hear them?
And now I am, so afraid.
With silent anticipation,
Hey Moon