Overly thinking about the features of his face. A face I’m not permitted to hold. A face that changes with every breath and word it inhales.
Oxygen wasted in his space, a space too small to expand, so the walls never come down they never expand they decrease and kill my lungs, the same lungs I no longer have the rights to.
Thinking about the imprint my flesh would leave against his. But that moment only one of us has the opportunity to commit to, so the thought of even trying would be denied before hand.
Thinking about the motions and movements of a conversation that should have never exist. The thought patterns of a great women being burned, the smoke I can’t overcome, the Angel my Angel, holding onto my Father’s hand as if time has no option. “Because I can’t have you the way that I want”.
Rings placed inside gifts, gifts placed inside ring’s, reminding me of future truths to come. Truths I belong to, truths I own, truths I can’t deny. So I truthfully I say do I want my boxes burned.
Overly thinking about the features of nothing I guess it seems, seems to be that I see smoke more then features, confusing because each feature took on a new shape, a shape no one can recreate, so I erase the pen before we both crash and burn.