You have died before I spoke my first words.
You have lived before I walked.
You were dead to me before I was forced into a world I don’t want to be in.
Ian you should mean absolutely nothing.
I shouldn’t know you.
I shouldn’t want to touch your face and look into those eyes.
The eyes of someone who is so alone; so blue and clear.
Such a longing to not be noticed and yet, cared for.
Or want to be near the voice.
The voice that carried the souls of the lost children to the hollows of their own personal hells.
And then leaving us there to rot for awhile.
But one time, you reached out for me in my sleep.
With sprits ghostly hand and twitching body.
I can hear your heart in a dream, for a little while.
Then I wake up at witching hour.
I just want to hold your hand.
I’ll be ready for the day when you can take my hand and take me away.
Just rid yourself of flesh and bone.
Now you are the stars.
For better or for worse.
No comments:
Post a Comment