how could i believe
you to be the repairer of my broken heart
the clock-maker of my ticking clock
its hands stuck on a quarter after eight
the polisher of my worn boots
lifeless and bent at the toe
seen many places that you'll never go
kicked rocks that you'll never know
the holder of my nail-bitten hand
chipped, cheap nail polish
bought on a whim to feel more like a woman
a job you failed on the eighth day
i came to this place
with my head in a spontaneous space
waiting for your touch or something
a comfort from you nor found in anyone else
but i've forgotten the scars you create
the medusa complex you have over me
bring me down
drag my fallen, fickle, feet across town
and tell me this is love, sweetness
tell me this is love
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment