It creeps all over you like a dull ache. Think of all the things your hands could make. It pulls you to the ground like soaking wet gloves, the change in your face when anger shows. In that moment you realise that something you thought would always be there will die like everything else...
These thoughts I must not think of, dreams I cant make sense of; I need you to tell me it's OK.
You are a sleeping lion in your bed - I will not wake you. You're the moment, love has passed, we all must learn to hate you; You're a memory from before, please don't let me forget you; you're the wolves at my door.
In that moment you realise that something you thought would always be there will die like everything else.
These thoughts I must not think of, dreams I cant make sense of; I need you to tell me it's OK.
How can you know what things are worth if your hands won't move to do a day's work? How can you know...
These thoughts I must not think of, dreams I cant make sense of; I need you to tell me it's OK.
Editors
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