The dial twists; I am within the dream.
This world unchanged - and yet my hair is grey.
The preserved spaces of my mind still teem
with faces suspended in yesterday.
Sometimes it’s less the inability to take a hint, than the unwillingness to.
Officially back to having no crush. What a bored bored heart.
Maybe, it may be for the best.
lights down low.
Don’t say you’re sorry. Let me rest.
Let me burn.
Let me go.
And could I, could I, out of sight,
Could I hold
whats in my head,
against me at night.
In my bed.
Breathe in, breathe in, one long sigh.
But I don’t.
Dried out and longing for the sky
To break down.
But you won’t.
And maybe, just maybe,
if I keep it
not too loud,
I could love whats in my head
cause I’m not so proud.
Not so proud as you.