I write what I see, Because I am blind. I write what I hear, But I am deaf. I write what I feel, But paralyzed. I write what I smell, In my burnt nose. I write what I taste, The only sense left, And thank the day, Because it can be worse.
The imprint you leave on my bed is marked for my comfort - The intangible smell on my unwashed sheets - I would wear them like a coat if it meant I carried your scent, I would wash them if it meant I will see you again - But most of all I want this imprint to be, an everlasting dent.