Faint Lines | On Hold

❧ eight

Crumpled sheets, broken pencils

When you stay up all night

Trying to perfect the right scenes;

Holding onto the thoughts

Of your recurring dreams

Like those scars on glasses

You can never see;

Those fingerprints you left

Across my cheeks, 

Those broken glasses lying

Scattered round my feet, 

And my blood soaking our mattress

As you stand and see, 

Unaware of the fact

I was always dead

Within.

❧