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Raspy voice confesses muffled into wet hands, The heart is broken, the pieces are million. I guess love is like rhetoric, it only ever is felt.
My head is a numbered patient and I'm writing your name On the walls, continuing into cases beyond repair, You are smiling in the best waterproof glue.
Your breath has a sound; your eyes have a scent, And the only person reciting them religiously is me. I am too much deep in the shallow end of the sea.
Toxic is the chemical of infatuation in teen romances When the faith is misplaced and the altar is bloody, And our God is not giving out tickets to heaven.
The heart is tattooed with a cross in center to left, Your hands are digging with intent of lost treasure. Well, hiding is the word for ethereal pleasure.
I'm guilty of my confession of thinking of you When the world is burning in eighteen months, It kills me (your face), and I will die in this blue earth.
We were a quick love story every time I saw you. When you leave, I am a watercolor palette missing black Because my heart has secreted the entire universe's pack.
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