There was a creak.
And then, of course, a click that may have seemed redundant.
And then an acid smile -
tastes like Amp and burns like gasoline.
Hours later, and the cars move painfully slow,
I'm too cold, and the Earth isn't moving quite the right way
to make me fall into your arms right now.
Can I be your baby? We'll be the ones they talk about, we'll be the ones they write about.
We'll be the ones they cry about.
And only we'll know.
Because artificial summer has stopped
smelling like winter.
and you left me.
Author notes
Written November 19th, 2005
What did you think
Comments
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thanks it took me a while to figure a way to write it in a way that expressed my exact feelings and i am glad that you liked it. thanks.
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WHOA, what a fantastic read. very desolate. I like how you write it as if you were saying it. It makes me think of bonnie and clyde
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