there might be a million things on my mind
but i know they will most likely go to waste
and still i tell myself there is no price to your friendship
even if you're never around
it's cold, it's thirty-three degrees
but i figure it's alright if it's you
you're not even home, you're probably with friends
laughing to yourself
not a single thought of me in your mind
"and this is okay" i think
as all the things i was to say fall to the floor
and drop from my mind and my from mouth
there was something i wanted to tell you
it was important too
but i'm running home
my legs are weak
my breath is jagged
and it hurts to speak
my fingers are so cold
i don't think they're there
but i think the worst part of all
is that you aren't even here
YOU ARE READING
𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌
Poesíastatic stat·ic ˈstat-ik. adjective characterized by a lack of movement or change trigger warning: read at your own risk! | just an unnecessarily long collection of me trying to get over my feelings
