My Lines

Writing

My Lines

My heartbeat is slowing, my vision is blurring

My Words slurred, my blood stops its flow.

The lines I saw within your poems and hymns little pieces of you that I couldn’t deny. Little signs of how sweet your love is.

So why am I on this cold dying earth? Lying and here lying to the world about how I feel. My words can’t deny my fingertips want to write them, they write tales of being sane, being saved, being loved. My heart pounds every few seconds now. And with each beat I hear it; I hear the symphony that is me.

A slow churning, deep thump, it repeats itself like a voice, like it wants to be taken out and taken care of.

Is this the reason for this madness? The reason I lie here is because my lines couldn’t make you smile for me. My lines were just, the unjust cause for your reply of “I’ll never feel the same”. So I lay here feeling like I always have rethinking my lines, and my ways to impress you.

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