I've forgotten your touch
And the fabrication of your skin
The tired sarcasm in your jokes
Has somehow escaped my mind
I don't remember the structure of the jaw
I once was able to trace
In the middle of the night with tired eyes
The last time I looked at your picture
I could still pinpoint the raspy, dry tone of your voice
I've realized that the spark in your eyes
Was not ambition, or the stars
It was the lights of a town that will soon burn down
Your shy smile has stopped being a metaphor
For a knife in my chest or a bullet to my head
Is this what I'm supposed to call "recovery"
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
I've forgotten your touch
And the fabrication of your skin
The tired sarcasm in your jokes
Has somehow escaped my mind
I don't remember the structure of the jaw
I once was able to trace
In the middle of the night with tired eyes
The last time I looked at your picture
I could still pinpoint the raspy, dry tone of your voice
I've realized that the spark in your eyes
Was not ambition, or the stars
It was the lights of a town that will soon burn down
Your shy smile has stopped being a metaphor
For a knife in my chest or a bullet to my head
Is this what I'm supposed to call "recovery"
