Wrapped in blankets, my sins shelter me as I cower beneath the heat, dying inside, but his words are comforting. For they are whispers of seduction, and tell tales of lies, and I believe in those who care so much that they'd risk their hearts for someone so callous, walking amongst me in my dirt filled palace, but I still wish for him to call as you do too wait for them to care. Even a little bit, perhaps at all.
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YOU ARE READING
Every Tear
PoetryStaring at these blank pages my mind is empty, the words won't bleed from my fingertips, for they only know my eyes.