there's a reason my finger tips
crackle like static
at the thought of touch
my words lose meaning
and my feelings limp
teeth stop gritting as it grows late into the night
time goes slower and the future gets closer
my mind goes blank trying to find
something other than what I can see
message blurred and feet unsteady
there's nothing else said but the dull record
playing over and over what I learn to accept
to love, to cherish, to set aside
and open my eyes for the one
who doesn't have to pry
YOU ARE READING
the inevitable
Poesíaunderestimate, unfold, understand. the third installment from words better left unspoken
