I wish you knew the words that I could not speak.
I miss you.
No that's not right. That's not right at all. I do but you are gone for a reason.
I love you.
There's a mouth full. Years of work and secrets weren't enough to keep it sacred.
Can you love a ghost? I think that is what I have come to crave. Her friendship is gone and all that remains is a shell. Yea. That's it.
A hollow shell of promises half kept and love half sent across half of five hundred miles. But still,can you..are you allowed to miss that?
I have spent months spinning round and round the reasons for those words. The hatred spit into a tiny little phone. I think it should be illegal for hearts to shatter over a text message. Or a voice message. Any kind of message really.
See? This is why I like poetry. You can write out feelings. Cannot cross the line of emotion..and damn..I should win an award for the line walking that I can achieve.
So I will sit here. Five hundred miles away in my little room, in my little, apartment, in my little town that knows not of the memories it can create. The sadness it can hold. The hatred it can house or the anger it can arouse.
In the end I guess it is just me. Who is going to want something that is half?
Half broken,
Half pretty,
Half falling.
Fully masked.
I miss you.
No that's not right. That's not right at all. I do but you are gone for a reason.
I love you.
There's a mouth full. Years of work and secrets weren't enough to keep it sacred.
Can you love a ghost? I think that is what I have come to crave. Her friendship is gone and all that remains is a shell. Yea. That's it.
A hollow shell of promises half kept and love half sent across half of five hundred miles. But still,can you..are you allowed to miss that?
I have spent months spinning round and round the reasons for those words. The hatred spit into a tiny little phone. I think it should be illegal for hearts to shatter over a text message. Or a voice message. Any kind of message really.
See? This is why I like poetry. You can write out feelings. Cannot cross the line of emotion..and damn..I should win an award for the line walking that I can achieve.
So I will sit here. Five hundred miles away in my little room, in my little, apartment, in my little town that knows not of the memories it can create. The sadness it can hold. The hatred it can house or the anger it can arouse.
In the end I guess it is just me. Who is going to want something that is half?
Half broken,
Half pretty,
Half falling.
Fully masked.
