Talk to me, but speak quietly...let the aftermath be your words bleeding upon my lips, and your hands sewing threads of madness into my bones. Allow your name to be my undoing, and your eyes, the only thing I call home.
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.
"...you"
Talk to me, but speak quietly...let the aftermath be your words bleeding upon my lips, and your hands sewing threads of madness into my bones. Allow your name to be my undoing, and your eyes, the only thing I call home.