3AM Thoughts (21)

It comes by my porch and leaves watery messages in a bottle. No rest, no comfort anymore. Give me thorns for comfort is overrated. I am merely a ghost with a heartbeat. Why do you continue existing? How does the emptiness subside? Or is it immortal? A crack on my heart; a crease on your forehead. Listlessly wandering among these shadows and withering black roses in your Eden, I crumble to dust and ashes. Last night, I saw you shove away that dust and ash under your frontdoor mat. We use and we spend, and we walk away – never telling why. Yet I thank you for these words. The pain you send my way, I turn it into ink with which I write this, our memories shared together my paper.

Filed under: Amateur, eccedentesiast, eleutheromaniac Tagged: amateur