I fell in love with a piece of paper
and a picture of you. Now here you stand,
and I don't quite know what I am to do…
We were lonely souls, you and I; felt like
only each other heard our laughs and cry.
Yet here we are, miles apart yet inches
so close. All I can hear are the words on
the paper; acting like an overdose.
You're not a picture, and neither am I,
falling in love was short; destined to die.
Love we did, even though our time quickly
ticked away. But my love was true; it could
not be born, ravish, and cease in a day.
A question in my head, it must be said:
Will I be back, as our history read?
True, I can not stop the dreams, but these bad
habits are hard to break. I'd rather miss
you than have more of your love bruises ache.
You're a part of me, like a glove, I can't
rid this picture and paper of you, love.
I will keep you near, of course, so you can
perhaps watch me grow, in awe or hatred,
to one day let go of your heavy woe.
Scars left from the battle of heart and mind --
My choice is clear, though it left my mouth ****
My heart breaks, the body recuperates,
this time I’ve had enough of these rust gates.
Goodbye to the man in front of me, and
everyday Good Morning to the picture
staring, eyes bright, with pain and painted glee.
If only pictures showed what was below
the skin, then maybe we wouldn’t have sinned?
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
I fell in love with a piece of paper
and a picture of you. Now here you stand,
and I don't quite know what I am to do…
We were lonely souls, you and I; felt like
only each other heard our laughs and cry.
Yet here we are, miles apart yet inches
so close. All I can hear are the words on
the paper; acting like an overdose.
You're not a picture, and neither am I,
falling in love was short; destined to die.
Love we did, even though our time quickly
ticked away. But my love was true; it could
not be born, ravish, and cease in a day.
A question in my head, it must be said:
Will I be back, as our history read?
True, I can not stop the dreams, but these bad
habits are hard to break. I'd rather miss
you than have more of your love bruises ache.
You're a part of me, like a glove, I can't
rid this picture and paper of you, love.
I will keep you near, of course, so you can
perhaps watch me grow, in awe or hatred,
to one day let go of your heavy woe.
Scars left from the battle of heart and mind --
My choice is clear, though it left my mouth ****
My heart breaks, the body recuperates,
this time I’ve had enough of these rust gates.
Goodbye to the man in front of me, and
everyday Good Morning to the picture
staring, eyes bright, with pain and painted glee.
If only pictures showed what was below
the skin, then maybe we wouldn’t have sinned?
Note: just because I write about love does not mean I write about a specific person. Had to be said. Thank you for reading :)
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