Breathe me in like air, innocent.
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My fingers bleed.
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I've been writing too much.
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Preventing these words from searing my battered throat.
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And I can't even scream so I sketch your face.
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Each line was a cry.
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Each curve bore blindness.
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Prevent my arms from failing.
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Limitless expressions to your face I can't conform,
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But give hands the chance voice wouldn't have.
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It was the first time that our words kissed, but our lips, they didn't even touch.
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No skin on skin.
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The first time in my life that I existed.
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And each time that we breathed, we were reborn.
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We're reborn each time we breathe.
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These nights were gaining strength yet losing ground.
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A short-lived grace.
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Your tongue!
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I taste your ways with a pen in my hand, in my hand, in my hand.
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I taste your ways.
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Well, in a matter of time my life went from day to night, incriminating textures.
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Where on earth did you go?
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What happened to us?
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With this retouching paint, I will use a brush, apply it to your canvas.
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This was once a beautiful painting.
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Each lasting memory will control each word that I write.
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And I used to think that my hands could dance.
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I only needed to hold myself up.
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You were never a crutch as you tore me away like this fringed papers' edge.
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You were never a crutch?
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But now I see my hand's been broken for quite some time.
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These memories impale the senses to this day.
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I'm broken.
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-----------------
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Broken
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| Folly |
