A slow song and a warm pillow hidden under a way to light weight t-shirt makes it hard to write, rain is falling on the window and there's scissors and paper on my coffee table, I'm feeling the self confidence fall down faster than the water drops outside. Words is echoing through walls and sentences whispers through the air who's not meant for me, everything's oblivion.
Tracing with my red fingers over the cold marble on the table wile trying not to smash my howl hand down on it in purpose of breaking bones. I have to my horror forgotten how to act.
I'm cold blooded and afraid, a former lover and half a soul, there was never someone else in this life that I was forced to showcase. Never before have I felt like I'm supposed to hide thoughts so deep down in my self that not even I know they're there. The ever so huge fear of saying something wrong around you and the oh so growing embarrassment from the sounds and words cluttered all over your white shirt from my high pitched voice and clumsy stammering.
You've called me warm and a fuzzy person, someone who you can be your self around. But I'm not.
I'm not in anyway a person who you should open up to, I will swallow everything you say about your self and I will memorise every detail and in the end I won't be able to tell my thoughts apart from your. I will fall so greatly in love with you that you will forever be in carved in my head and in no way of escape from it.
But if you are still in on me searching through your flaws and in no success finding anything and if you are still in on me holding your way to perfect formed hand with my a little to square one then so be it.
I'll give you my best shot.
And as my thoughts slowly start to peace together the slow song is on its last notes, my hand leaves the marble table and I look up.
A sentence is forming in the April morning, pen on paper writes it down.
'I believe I've fallen for you and I'm afraid I won't be able to get up without your help.'
I don't smile because I feel like it ruins the moment but it really grows on me,
but then again, I don't do great things,
I just hope that okay things is enough for you. It is right?
YOU ARE READING
Important thoughts through an idiots perspective
PoetryThese are the crawling and up scratched words from my already burning skin, they're not in any way coated to appeal to the mass. They're just raw,pure and insane letters out from my own brain box. The importance of this is that instead of just let...
