"Can you name all the bones in my body?
Can you make all the tones in my head?
What you couldn't find in books
and you've broken every spine
I could tame all the tigers in your bloodstream.
Can you lay all my ghosts in their graves?
But what you couldn't find in books
(and you've broken every spine)"
i made sure not to utter a single word other than every day pleasantries, greetings, and excuse mes'. a shade or two from pale, slightly green around the edges. you were much more quiet than i had seen. stoic. you passed by once, maybe twice, while carefully navigating around me.
"shh."
"don't lay a finger on her"
"shh."
my head full of bother quickly retreated to the sounds outside, the cold air that sticks to your skin and sinks in straight to your bones. bottles littered the ground, people littered the long hallways, scenarios cluttered up my mind. so, i attempted to walk ever so softly on those eggshells you scattered behind you as you darted into the next room. fortunately the key to this lock on my lips was safely in my pocket. i kept twirling it in my fingers, fidgeting with the sharp ends. i kept it in my pocket.
it wasn't the right time and i'll chalk it up to a plethora of reasons, excuses, and mistakes. a single one might not be true, or every one could be right on target. all i know is that those sad eyes in your head couldn't even lift themselves to meet mine and that's the very first time you've done that.
i haven't felt that uncomfortable but equally at home than i did that night.
perhaps you'll speak up next time, at least say something, because i can see the concern rattling your head. it'll get you every time, and so will i...or so it seems.
Can you make all the tones in my head?
What you couldn't find in books
and you've broken every spine
I could tame all the tigers in your bloodstream.
Can you lay all my ghosts in their graves?
But what you couldn't find in books
(and you've broken every spine)"
i made sure not to utter a single word other than every day pleasantries, greetings, and excuse mes'. a shade or two from pale, slightly green around the edges. you were much more quiet than i had seen. stoic. you passed by once, maybe twice, while carefully navigating around me.
"shh."
"don't lay a finger on her"
"shh."
my head full of bother quickly retreated to the sounds outside, the cold air that sticks to your skin and sinks in straight to your bones. bottles littered the ground, people littered the long hallways, scenarios cluttered up my mind. so, i attempted to walk ever so softly on those eggshells you scattered behind you as you darted into the next room. fortunately the key to this lock on my lips was safely in my pocket. i kept twirling it in my fingers, fidgeting with the sharp ends. i kept it in my pocket.
it wasn't the right time and i'll chalk it up to a plethora of reasons, excuses, and mistakes. a single one might not be true, or every one could be right on target. all i know is that those sad eyes in your head couldn't even lift themselves to meet mine and that's the very first time you've done that.
i haven't felt that uncomfortable but equally at home than i did that night.
perhaps you'll speak up next time, at least say something, because i can see the concern rattling your head. it'll get you every time, and so will i...or so it seems.
perilouspup:
i like that 