03-11-09
I am undone,
a little rough around the edges.
Hearing stories of ,
the hours past and,
the hourglass we race.
The one I tried to chase,
mm.
We talk too much,
a million words meaning,
nothing at all.
Telling stories of ,
nothing real.
It’s never how we feel,
and they say time is how we heal,
mm.
I can’t see you,
I can’t breathe you in, no.
If I do I’d never leave again,
oh, again.



