I can't sleep unless my curtains are drawn so tightly that even the stolen light of the moon can't pry through. The darkness blankets my shoulders and tucks me in so I can't shiver against the absence of skin. The pictures I've littered across my walls are a slideshow and I can see you from title slide to works cited. Sighted from so far away that I could admire the vase of your throat and the words that flowered from it, but not so far that I couldn't taste the chocolate of your eyes. The times you've called me beautiful almost outweigh the times I've thought the opposite. Unfortunately, my hips aren't slim enough for that kind of skinny love, and your hands will blister and burn from trying to convince me otherwise.
YOU ARE READING
Revelations
PoetryIt was really me. It was really you. There was really nothing we could do. To put it concisely, these are short, philosophical situations, feelings, and thoughts of different persons and personalities I've encountered.
