You lay on the wasted words
crumbled on the floor
only to hold on
to the spilled ink of your heart
a while longer
You lay on the wasted words
crumbled on the floor
only to hold on
to the spilled ink of your heart
a while longer
It’s hard to place,
these symphony of aches,
that serenade your heart…
pulling strings,
between the dotted lines,
of abstract inhibitions.