Author Information
Forget-me-nots
Poison-speckled eyes
Mind drained like a filled bath
To the pages
Rolling like the hills, alive
Rolling like my tongue
As I dance through the moldy hills
As I tiptoe through my tragedies
Leaning on my mind, like a man to his chair
Like a head to his shoulder
Like lips to his lover
I've stolen a kiss, from tragic ground
Given in the hills, given in the days
Stuck in my pages
Locked away from nights, from days
Crying myself to sleep
