I was feeling the keys,

How the fingers fell between,

the unwritten notes,

of incoherent sighs.

I was hoping to find my voice,

in the monotony of type.

Waiting for the dream thoughts,

to take form. I dreamt more.

Shaping nothingness,

into a mould that dissolved, she tore,

the very real,

she broke, what couldn’t heal.

She stole,

in your words, similes of borrowed beauty.

Will you turn around, tonight?

Missing what shouldn’t be,

kissing the porous moments,

fleeting lies.

Will you be somebody I need?

She wore her questions,

to sleep.

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