»ℒ𝒢(ℬ)𝒯𝒬+

She has a bookshelf for a heart, 
And ink runs throught her veins,
She'll write you into her story , 
With the typewriter in her brain,
Her bookshelf's getting crowded,
With all the stories that she's penned, 
Of the people who flicked through her pages, 
But closed the book before the end, 
And there's one pushed to the very back, 
That sits collecting dust, 
With its titke in her finest writing, 
"The One's Who Lost My Trust",
There's books she's scared to open,
And books she doesn't close,
Stories of every person she's met, 
Streched out in endless rows,
Some people have only a sentence,
While others once held a main part,
Thousands of inka footprints,
That they've left across her heart, 
You might wonder why she does this, 
Why write of people she once knew? 
But she hopes one day she'll mean enough,
For someone to write about her too. 

~e.h




The thing about the pain, 
Is it won't last forever,
And it kills you right now,
But with time it gets better ,
The thing about the scars to fade,
Until nothing is left, 
Of the cuts that were made,
The thing about today,
Is there's always tomorrow,
And if you can't find your smile,
I have one you can borrow,
The thing about help,
Is beside you it stands,
But it won't know it's needed,
Unless you reach out your hand,
The thing about love,
Is you can't feel it's touch,
Until you let someone know,
That this world is too much.
~e.h

➷𝕚 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖➹



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