1:14 AM - Winter Mournings.
We are painting pictures of the sun like we'll never see it again
And holding on to the hope in our chests like a light on guard from the cold.
Wind chapped hearts float papery words from parched lips
Like lovers in bed with Laryngitis having dry and unsatisfying sex
Apocalypse blinding grey cloudless nuclear holocaust sky
1 comment:
painting pictures of the sun like we'll never see it again. indeed my friend, indeed. the pictures are never as good.
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