I am addicted to the tiking of the clock
To pretending to be someone I'm not
Running down the hills inside my heart
And tearing my paint stained mind apart
Time is fleeting; ever gone
And I know you have moved
But I'm still counting seconds in the pool
I knew I'd drown; I'm not that big a fool
But my addictions not cigarettes or secrets
It is to the tiking of the clock
YOU ARE READING
Words Of A Moth Drawn To Flame
ПоэзияMoths come and go, This one is lost so it stays, It talks to candles but not the moon, Lost in it's own creation's maze.
