walking the line and playing blind
holding onto things i shouldn’t, grasping feelings i thought i couldn’t
vine to vine and sunset into the night
walking franklin, sitting, remenecising with thoughts of the cemetery
death could only wish, if you could only feel bliss
back to wesnesday morning, the thorns of your back
the way every crevice felt like your kiss
from night till dawn, i sing the same damn song
you hit the bong, play with your drugs and drink your drink
my whiskey, if only you could feel the pulse when you kissed me
your vain, my veins, i pulsate for you
transcend into a world where, intellectually, you might be stimulating
where little things might’ve meant something
grasp notions, to feel emotions other than the utter black that you ooze
slow dance in your blues just to feel the endless bruise you seem to overuse
rock into, back and forth — you were essentially the gravy for my waves
the sweetness that brought my days
now stuck in daze and past ventures that kill
our words were only ever the icing on the cake
i’ve had it, yet i still want it, like the way i awoke on wednesday morning
before i felt the feeling that is drowning