A language yet to be written.

There are parts of you that cannot be held by poems
or paintings or songs, but I hold them in my desolated heart.

I am that naïve damsel with sad songs in her fingerprints and smoky
sunset in her eyes.

It’s you who run through the lyrics of those honeyed words and
amorous love songs.

You went around turning on all the lights in my soul and
weed out the seclusion in me.

Hypothetically opening all the doors of my heart as if you knew
you were going to live there.

The quiet beauty of tenderness and the slow unfolding of sadness within,
will always take my breath away thinking you let me go.

Baby, when you need to sit and stare out the window
in silence with your unhinged mind,
I will love you quietly.

Where a venomous place within my shroud heart,
I hide awful pains too great to bear and fictitious hopes
too great to lose.


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