Speak to me on the telephone
but everyone tells me it's the same
Same tone
All the words but yours have gotten old.
You live out that skipping record
Recycled lines
But the track moves on little by little
Day by Day
You rerecite new peices
I know
That home is where you rest your head
Why is it
The heartbeat pulsing at my ear
Beats differently then yours
I can feel my blood running through
Every vein pumping with raging haste
Lock my kneecaps
I write
And can't help but pull them to my chest.
You make me tuck away
Under holy blankets
Question my mortality
And envy
Every curve to your back
I'm forced to sift through what i now lack
And what i've gained without you
PAce, Pull, Think
Draw stars on the corners of blank sheets
Where words hold no desire to be
Stop and wonder where i'm going
I've never been scared of you
Only scared of never knowing
I know we hurt
And excavate all the voids we once filled
You are still a little boy
I'm just a little girl.
Copyright 2004 Mute Serenade
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/4637/31775 on Friday August 29th, 2008 02:35 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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