the light and the glass
Slowly the pen touches paper in the guidance of the words that you write.
Memories roll in; of the things you once did
and who you had shared them with. Is somebody thinking of you?
Did I bother telling you this, with the words that cross teeth and jump lips?
A poor choice of words, in wanting to tell you anything.
But words don't come with ease. They're forever my hurt.
Would it really matter, if you were to count the days left with your hands?
Your focus secure and the loves you left; well
smiles staged in photographs here until...
- coheed and cambria
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napkin man
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12:30 am
