Bandaged by speculation
That you are as imperfect as I
Sitting across the room, one million miles
of emptiness, I wait nervously
Above, the clock is deafening
Two hands grasp the remaining hour
That terrible thumping.
My heart bruises with each pulse
Words do not call out to you
Instead they wither
The bland taste of anxiety
I could speak of such desires
This voice of reason proposed apathy
Heavy as chains. The knot inside.
Your recognition would be medicine
Even a simple glance. An illusion
of a one true happiness
I would feel something
The dull shimmers. Our time has
come to an end.
Draining the colours from the room.
Bejn Jonathon Xander on Feb 12, 2010, 9:26 am
Thanks dear.
Jodamme on Feb 11, 2010, 10:54 am
"The bland taste of anxiety", "Draining the colours from the room". Sometimes you get it perfect.
Bejn Jonathon Xander on Feb 10, 2010, 6:36 am
And I've just found out she's been in a relationship with this guy for like three years! Ah well.