my bed sits, empty as my pocket
bearing nothing more than your old promises
collecting dust, waiting to be heard again
by someone willing to listen.
it breaks me down, every time
I feel you near me
haunting my empty bed
with your sharp teeth.
my body knows your words
can still cut me at my throat
so I wait
patiently, for your blade
to appear beside me
without your hand to hold it.
Oct 13, 2020
Oct 13, 2020 at 2:49 PM UTC
my bed sits, empty as my pocket
bearing nothing more than your old promises
collecting dust, waiting to be heard again
by someone willing to listen.
it breaks me down, every time
I feel you near me
haunting my empty bed
with your sharp teeth.
my body knows your words
can still cut me at my throat
so I wait
patiently, for your blade
to appear beside me
without your hand to hold it.
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