Script from a twisted wrist
A hand that's been kissed
Words flowing from burnt fingertips
[I've always loved and touched too much]
But these are just words.
Being swallowed and ignored
And possibly rightfully so
Words, evaporating in blank eyes
Disappearing in artistic skies
Numb tongues wrapping around moonlit sighs.
Inhaled the experience and exhaled metaphoric lies.
Watch them rise through cracked throats
And break in mid air like neglected smoke
These are just words.
The ones I never spoke.
Love, Tianamonique
*I know I don't post as much as I used to. Some things are just meant to be kept to myself...
