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Literature Text
tomorrow never comes like
it used to,
and the way your hands are aligned
with mine don't remind me of the
constellations anymore,
the ones shaped like a horse and
all of the dead spirits molded into
stars.
when the sun hibernated for its usual
rest,
he told me he was my everything,
wrapping his arm around my shoulder so he could
proclaim me as his;
and the corners of my lips peeled wide and
my tongue pursed out the words,
but what if everything means nothing
at all?
and he never used that word
again.
hm
© 2013 - 2024 delirious-eyes
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