Humid... blood in these veins. Causing my thoughts to stick together as the stories she can't relay reveal themselves in slurs and stutters.
The friction of her twisting words, like kindling.... catching hearts on fire. Mournful whispers pressed against ears. Empty threats make for empty beds. I want to teach her eyes to lie, tell her to save her voice for the big ones... but I'm to busy walking home, head down, writing myself to pieces.
Hallways and staircases. Scenes for our mistakes. Where there is love there is war, and another casualty in my head.
