my tired eyes only search
search for a reason,
some tiny obscure reason
as to why im not good enough
my lonely heart only craves
craves the touch of one's hands
who doesn't thirst for sex
but long walks down dark alleys
my crazed fingertips linger
linger in my past as i reminisce
the burning sensation of your skin
and how it hurt to love you
YOU ARE READING
the lonely club
Poetrysometimes i can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives i'm not living
