thousands of words lay entrapped on a quarter inch line of thread. The thread smells slightly, but has a glossy outer feel ignorant of its intent. It forms a canvas, sillouhetting only the basic human instincts.
We've crawled down this path before
slowly
slithering around simple a simple yes or no
Ciggerettes fill the air like a silent venom. Skin clings to an all too familiar carpet. we have the setting. the place. the time.
Theres still a chance.
The black shine aborbs my favorite hits. takes in twelve tracks not altogether foriegn. they have similarity ; purpose. they remind me of you.
Listen. The mute silence is beautiful. A tribute, for I no longer hear your breath spread over optical cables and sent within rounded packaging. I no longer bear witness to a smile escaping onto foreign vibrations and visualized.
I cant
See
Touch
Envelop
Press
Hold
you. not right now. A torturing response not open for debate.
I won't
Tell
Allow
Let
Linger
Envision
Taste another.
Make or break. Make or break. The thread tightens nervously.
I can't wait to listen.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment