(Untitled)

[beyondtragedy]

My heart is a wooden door. Oak maybe, with ornate things, hidden things scrawled across it, like the western wind. And I want to feel someone pound back against it. Cause I never really woke up this mourning. Over what? A sunrise, cause it didnt. You can feel something. And you can FEEEEL it. You can touch something with the tips of those fingers,

Comments

[lyd_ya]

Can I come see you this weekend?