Can I press my face
into your dusty corners?
The untouched places,
coated with neglect.
An imprint of my lips,
upon your skin.
The taste of forget,
in my mouth.

It clings to you,
the dirty, gray, loneliness.
So deep, its simply another sheet of your skin;
a fine layer of despair.

If I run my fingers
over your filthy edges,
and brush away the cobwebs,
clutched desperately to your grooves,
perhaps I can remember
why I left you to become one
with the childhood memorabilia,
and the shrunken, outgrown clothes.

One with the dust.
Quote by SweetPoison
It's not a song

It should be, it's brilliant.

It was the only task I would undertake...

...to reap the harvest that was mine

- [ P R O G - H E A D ? ] -