as if frayed brushes,
broken pen nibs,
emptied paint tubes
and ***** of crumpled paper
laying haphazardly on the floor
wasn't enough to show
the lack of love
in our hearts.
we pass by each other
like ghostly strangers
with a vague notion of
familiarity.
we sleep on the same bed,
but we're not sleeping together.
we eat at the same table,
but we're not eating together.
but some nights,
i hear you let out a quiet sob
just as i turn the corner
and you don't know it,
but i've seen the tear marks
on your cheeks when you
silently crawl into bed.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
as if frayed brushes,
broken pen nibs,
emptied paint tubes
and ***** of crumpled paper
laying haphazardly on the floor
wasn't enough to show
the lack of love
in our hearts.
we pass by each other
like ghostly strangers
with a vague notion of
familiarity.
we sleep on the same bed,
but we're not sleeping together.
we eat at the same table,
but we're not eating together.
but some nights,
i hear you let out a quiet sob
just as i turn the corner
and you don't know it,
but i've seen the tear marks
on your cheeks when you
silently crawl into bed.
lol what will i ever live with an artist
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