vktrs

Hold my hand through the coming changes hold my hand through the passing time for if you don't, the hand you reach for when your love expires will surely no longer be mine

I wrap my thoughts in metaphors As if to take the sting away Yet I’d give anything to feel again The familiarity of pain I write the words that yearn to be heard To people who will never read I take the time to craft each line They are all but dying seeds But its all alright because at this time of night No one else is around to entertain And in the silence my thoughts eat me alive If only I could keep them contained

He sat towards the back, subconsciously running the tips of his fingers over the coarse, tattered material of the pew. He imagined he was somewhere else, far away from the dimly lit room with the out-of-date decor, far away from the foul odor of 100 year-old carpet mixed with embalming fluid, far away from the tears. He lived it all over and over again, replaying it in his head like a movie he just couldn't get enough of, for every time he watched it he would pick up something new that had been seemingly neglected the first 300 reiterations. Unfortunately, this movie didn't take as long for him to live as it did to watch. He still couldn't be

Why do I keep doing this.. Why do I give myself to him for nothing.. Nothing. Laying in the soiled bed watching the door close in my face I ask myself why I'm there. Hearing the shower turn on as it washes last night off his skin I ask myself why I'm there. Why am I there? I can smell in on my clothes.. ugh. On my skin. In my skin. He's so cold.. He's using the smile to hide it. To comfort me and ease my apprehensions so he can get what he wants. But they don't stop running. They torture me as I'm being tortured by him. They bounce off the interior of my skull as I'm looking into his eyes. Searching and finding nothing to hang

although distance casts a silence between the two paralells the next beat of my heart relies upon the post skip of yours and while i live in a shadow now, i feel the darkness budge as the familiar song rounds the corner, and the memories flood back to the rhythm of the simultaneous thuds and breaks, for a moment it's too real to me, it was never this perfect. but the pictures, less vivid with each tired reiteration, slowly fade back into their monochromatic nonexistance and now only one beat is heard- each deaf pause succeeding a previous inaudible thump, and when that flow takes the form of a pulse- and when yours can no longer be