Your hands shake as you scribble sappy lines across notebook pages. Almost unreadable, though you never had any intention to share these thoughts. They're all needless confessions: words and words and dreams you'll never say.
It's always been platonic or as much as it could be with the electricity in your veins singing for him. But now your skin is on fire and frozen all at once, and it doesn't feel the same with anyone else.
Friendship isn't meant to sear, to burn like a brand on your flesh. You know you're his even if he doesn't, he owns the way you say his name. You cling to him for dear life, and your hands still shake, he owns that too.
FILL: SWAG 2016
poem, 16 lines.
Your hands shake as
you scribble sappy lines
across notebook pages.
Almost unreadable, though
you never had any intention to share these thoughts.
They're all needless confessions: words
and words and dreams you'll never say.
It's always been platonic
or as much as it could be with the electricity in your veins singing for him.
But now your skin is on fire and frozen all at once,
and it doesn't feel the same with anyone else.
Friendship isn't meant to sear, to burn like a brand on your flesh.
You know you're his even if he doesn't,
he owns the way you say his name.
You cling to him for dear life, and your hands still shake,
he owns that too.