The words you chose could have come
straight off the skin of my
tongue.
There is no sound when the heart begins
to destroy itself.
It is silent and it is still as ice
when the calendar clicks
and I
realize you are gone.
.
.
It's all poetry.
It's all poetry.
The words you chose could have come
straight off the skin of my
tongue.
There is no sound when the heart begins
to destroy itself.
It is silent and it is still as ice
when the calendar clicks
and I
realize you are gone.
.
.
