The dark is not dark enough
to silence these shadows that speak to us when we sleep.
They crawl into our bodies through the corners of our mouths.
They tell us we won't make it through winter.
Through the fog that's rolling in.
That we will splinter and crack
That we will turn into empty soap boxes.
I promised these walls I would see them again.
Two eyes are sometimes all I can give.
This rain is guilt-free.
But I will repeat my apologies like broken clockwork until you leave me.
Will my lips still taste like coffee
when you come again someday?
Will my fingers still smell like cigarets
when you're a thousand miles away?
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
The dark is not dark enough
to silence these shadows that speak to us when we sleep.
They crawl into our bodies through the corners of our mouths.
They tell us we won't make it through winter.
Through the fog that's rolling in.
That we will splinter and crack
That we will turn into empty soap boxes.
I promised these walls I would see them again.
Two eyes are sometimes all I can give.
This rain is guilt-free.
But I will repeat my apologies like broken clockwork until you leave me.
Will my lips still taste like coffee
when you come again someday?
Will my fingers still smell like cigarets
when you're a thousand miles away?
