The only sounds that I can hear
Are the singing of the birds...
Once,
I heard you sing...
Our wonderful world languishes
within an open wound...
Paint chips fall gracefully
like a freshly, fallen snow...
i promise to draw you a map of your mind,
so that you will never be lost in it again...
I will come to gather you
And take you to my heart...
branching veins,
black pupils...
Inhale-
smoke in my lungs...
when
at long last...
cursive is the best way to describe my pen
because only the quaint wish to read...
If you're wondering who you are, I can tell you.
You're nothing. Nothing but a number...
12/04/2017
Friday night...