Stories And Comets
A Pox, A Plague, A Poison
Every word that spills forth from these lips is stained with the memory of every word you said
And every move you made
You're bleeding as you're breathing
Slowly choking on the blood as it fills your lungs
Your lips are turning blue Your papercuts are weeping gently
Slowly soaking through your shirt
Have you dressed them like they're real?
Every word that spills forth from these lips is stained with the memory of every word you said
And every move you made
A handshake as we're leaving and a nod to say goodnight won't help you to suture every wound you make
Do you sometimes think as I do:
Always loud?
Always loud but never truly clear until tonight?
Maybe we're all just chardonnay casualties
From Letras Mania