putting the pen to the page
or grasping for the cough syrup
i'd hide my thoughts in these days
slipped away with yr firm grip
going for the washed up and away
i am not alone, with hands of several halves away
i like my heart made of stars and silly string
with angels of so many used to bes
i like to die, in the days we used to care
and these moments we held knives next to each other
and fleshed out the days spent all alone
i cry to gather the rain drops of a love so pure
the fortified walls of what we will never
and my head lies burried in my pillows,
wishing all of myself away, forever.
