He tries to cry a tune, standing on the roof of life
He doesn’t scratch, but wails a melody of blue happiness.
He misses a fret and stumbles on the uniform black of this house of his
As he tries to regain his core, his heart weighs him down
He plunges through the air almost happily, bending a triumphant sixth
He hits the ground, and amphetamines fly his brain to the second story
While his soul is left without understanding and feeling
His mind abruptly collides with his body
After he looks at the word on his arm, and thinks of the girl in his head
he wonders if they were the same.
First one in a long time, folks.
Comments
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yesterday was "to write love on her arm" day.
love was on my arm. situational, but i had to. -
This is a good write for someone who hasn't writen in a while-lol
I like the imagery I really got a picture of someone on a roof playing tunes of his feeling it really felt like scene from a movie or something. what is the word on his arm? I wonder. Well maybe he'll get the answers he seeks in what he plays.
See I told you it'll come in time
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