I'm sorry if I couldn't ever say it
I wanted to be home I swear
I'm sorry if I lied that
I couldn't pace down
there was no other side, no boat
there was no ocean
as deep as the love in your eyes
there were no jungles waiting for us
I'm sorry about the dream
I left to rot so freely
the music we've been dancing to
does it belong to us?
do we even belong to dancing
spinning to the rythm, hand-in-hand
b.. but I haven't 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 them in so long.. your hands...
maybe you could tell
if are you drowning when I'm gone?
or is it us.. drowning together in
every moment of this life we created
do your eyes replay our sins?
or do they bleed thinking about mine?
should I wait for wood, stay for dinner and play you a cassete really old..
or should I run away into a new dawn of an unknown day,
should I become a plain paper so stale
..that a little bit of dust could take proof of my existence away?
YOU ARE READING
The Language of Rain
Poetry[TW :- CRINGE] Here, burns the bonfire of my heart. this is a random collection of poems and thoughts.
