MysteryGirl
06-20-2014, 10:42 PM
A Child’s Tale
It is amazing how
paint dries.
I’ve spent so much,
probably too much
time focusing on
a white wall and
the light reflecting
off of it’s fine, finished
surface. Bouncing and
changing color with each
coming person in
my life. Here, I can
distract myself from
fights between you
and him and my tragic
soul that needed
you the most. I play
the nicest games
with the shadows.
It is amazing how
paint dries.
V
To love you
over and over
is a privledge
I’ve never had
the honor.
Wings of Angels
I give into sadness
much too easily. It
opens it’s arms
like an evil angel
and I crawl inside
like a moth to the
flame. I’m finding
myself accustomed
to falling into the
arms of strangers.
To want what is not mine
My words are secrets,
unforgiven, unforgotten
scrawled down on crumbled
up pieces of paper that I forgot
to dispose of. But the truer,
nicer, more picturesque ones
belong to you. I never truly owned
them. They rested in your heart and in
your lips where the heavens parted to
find the tip of your tongue and the base
of your hips that sway and they sway
to a silence unknown to me that holds
every one of your fragments that create
a you that I could never, ever,
touch.
It is amazing how
paint dries.
I’ve spent so much,
probably too much
time focusing on
a white wall and
the light reflecting
off of it’s fine, finished
surface. Bouncing and
changing color with each
coming person in
my life. Here, I can
distract myself from
fights between you
and him and my tragic
soul that needed
you the most. I play
the nicest games
with the shadows.
It is amazing how
paint dries.
V
To love you
over and over
is a privledge
I’ve never had
the honor.
Wings of Angels
I give into sadness
much too easily. It
opens it’s arms
like an evil angel
and I crawl inside
like a moth to the
flame. I’m finding
myself accustomed
to falling into the
arms of strangers.
To want what is not mine
My words are secrets,
unforgiven, unforgotten
scrawled down on crumbled
up pieces of paper that I forgot
to dispose of. But the truer,
nicer, more picturesque ones
belong to you. I never truly owned
them. They rested in your heart and in
your lips where the heavens parted to
find the tip of your tongue and the base
of your hips that sway and they sway
to a silence unknown to me that holds
every one of your fragments that create
a you that I could never, ever,
touch.