fingers on the doorknob

Our story isn’t dropping dead

It doesn’t miss my soul,

Hear me out until I save us

From falling through the hole.

A Monday evening soaked in silver,

A year or two in love,

Where promises and envies hit

On your and my behalf.

Its not my way of being with you, come and hold my hand

I’m stopping you I’m stopping me from slipping through the sand.

I’ll soothe your wounds, you wipe my scars.

As lovers we wouldn’t go that far-

We’d rather be a fantasy, which they don’t understand.

Where life has dropped its color tray,

Where two would make a crowd,

Where candid words would roughly bite

And Heartbeat loses sound.

That’s not where I take you to,

I haven’t lost control

We’re meant to be together,

And to let each other go.

Its not my way of being with you, come and hold my hand.

I’m stopping you I’m stopping me from slipping through the sand.

I’ll soothe your wounds, you wipe my scars,

As lovers we wouldn’t go that far-

We’d rather be a fantasy, which they don’t understand.