a cross coated in gold
hangs from his neck,
i cant help but think if thats why
he makes me feel like heaven
his words send chills
down my spine,
too strong for any
ordinary book to contain
he inhales my dreams
working them around his chest,
and breathing out
smokey promises
then one day
his neck grows heavy
from the weight of
false pretenses of his
faith
and his word count
lingers all too low,
leading me to read
old stories to replace the
lack of new pages
and his mind no longer
channels my dreams
into a potential reality
