beat slowly do not ruin my heart let me stay close do not away from near we have to talk long do not offer to shut up my burning gaze do not try to put it out
my only concem is butterflies do not squeeze in the palm of your hand
Writing poems may save my place in the book of life. But I think my life is better seen from a distance. Close up there are issues, dents and some old popcorn under my chair.
I'm in your t-shirt pulling dreadfully at the creases in my sleep burying myself so I cannot breathe to seek some of last week's comfort. Maybe I don't want to be here if you're not.
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I have been so lonely, 'I miss you' is the mouth of the well.