One game that i wont play.
Frozen phone lines missing march.
Blessed sound asleep.
It's a tragedy,
I feel it is the misery that keeps me coming home and lusting is proof,
That love has never touched these bones.
Holding on to what was never real, i am letting go.
Beneath a window, bought by your life,
Lies a body, wishing to become real.
Another game i wont play.
Spilling my heart simply in my head when we both know we are back and forth.
Love is not a feeling, it is movement.
You move.
But what if i were to move,
Would i surprise the purest white, we underline to breath alive.
Am i missing love?
I write this to you in the a.m., wasting, still breathing, but dying.
Am i missing love?
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