Why does it feel like a hole when I lay down at night, for what reasons do I write my thoughts on parchment, and how can it free my soul? Late last night I came crashing into some place unknown, still I can't speak a lick of my own tongue. Slipping on ice can leave marks and scars, these everlasting memories burn me only to bleed for weeks. Please, oh please don't bite on me; your jaws capture everything in this area, but no words of apology breach your lips- what fucked up wishes does your mouth echo for me? Save the best for last, save your lust for the fans outside this box, because my heart can only handle seeing one failing glimpse.
The truth is in the words we exchange.
Stressed Out
(Never knew me by Jay)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Very nice..Seriously though. I like it a lot.
somewhat like, "Very nice. How much?"
Post a Comment