DeYarmond Edison
Bones
bones, lying in a trunk at the foot of my bedthey're always open to show me that they're still deadand everyday it's harder stilli am footed(?) and unfilled pain, i'm good with the ways there are to eraseand i'm pancaked on the floor, you can't see my facecuz it's buried like the moonsober morning's come too soonbruise, it's coming to the surface, like the vesselit's been hidden for so long, you are the trestlethat's there to hoist me upnow this world without you is fuckedskin, and it's warm enough to hold you and keep you breathingbut it locks me out and makes me lose my needingand how long to be alonehow will i carry these bonesand i'm so far from not caring x8
From Letras Mania