4.28.18 | for spring nights tangled up with someone
I don't think this is what I want, but this isn't what I don't want either.
It's something, but I want more, just not in the way that you want more.
This was fun at first -- I came back each time giddy, butterflies blooming, excited for the next time I would get to see you.
But now moths are eating away at what's left of my heart and I'm bored again.
Your hands aren't daring enough, aren't willing to set my skin on fire and give it the warmth it craves.
Our bodies tangle themselves together but I'm itching to get out of my skin far too much to actually enjoy anything.
My heart wanders through the tunnels of my mind, desperate to find the answer to these feelings that aren't something but aren't nothing.
I want someone to fight for me, but that someone isn't you.
It's something, but I want more, just not in the way that you want more.
This was fun at first -- I came back each time giddy, butterflies blooming, excited for the next time I would get to see you.
But now moths are eating away at what's left of my heart and I'm bored again.
Your hands aren't daring enough, aren't willing to set my skin on fire and give it the warmth it craves.
Our bodies tangle themselves together but I'm itching to get out of my skin far too much to actually enjoy anything.
My heart wanders through the tunnels of my mind, desperate to find the answer to these feelings that aren't something but aren't nothing.
I want someone to fight for me, but that someone isn't you.
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