My mind cracks when you speak. Unable to take the weight of you not loving me. Advertisements
His hands are new to me, but I know them well. I’ve watched them pull pints, clean glass, polish brass. I’ve watched them write words, touch his lips, sit on hips, And now they’re on me. The fingers I’ve watched be districted now focus solely on me. They search me, like I had taken the … More His Hands
Hang your wings by the door on your way in: You don’t need to be perfect here.
Feed my soul with the scraps of your existence, Don’t waste your valuable time on me.