6.8.17 J.R , pt. II
Sometimes I can't tell if you're being sincere.
You never know exactly what you want. A boy of only seventeen, with cloudy, deep-set eyes; you are a mystery I'd like to figure out.
Your words speak a tone of triviality, and your laugh makes me clench my fists. The way your lips quiver with a sly smirk always made my blood boil, but it is the way your hands move when we talk, or the electricity that your soul seems to possess when your standing right beside me, when we are on the very top of the city's heights talking about the things we used to love.
You're walking in circles around me. Our eyes chasing cars below us, and the clouds of smoke always seem to drain you of words, and drown you in your thoughts.
Is it just the moment, or is it me?
Nobody ever said out loud, that in your feelings, you drown. And in your cloudy eyes, I swear, I've drowned thousands. Through we only ever addressed surface things, it is clear there is depth in the way the city lights illuminate the things we hide in the dark.
Though I know this will not end well, the mystery of you intrigues me. A temporary fix to a ravenous fire, and maybe I'll stand a little too close, and I'll find something other than the minutiae of these eighteen years lost in the flames.
YOU ARE READING
The Other Person Project
Poetrythe answer is yes. it will always be yes. you will always be the words. [(format) This originally started as a secret project I took on senior year, in high school. I wanted to write a poem about every single person in my class, eventually it becam...
