Don’t look for comfort in dead arms

Purple on white linen
and on your lips
a slice of lime
just to tame it a little

Tired of staring at blank signs
looking for direction
lost in translation

Tired of looking at your mouth
Every time you come near me
You’re not even all that
/yet I melt when you’re around /

I’m sick of painting your face
with stars when I look up
sick of sketching everything
in that shade of brown
fucking orange backdrop

Never had a blank slate before
To remember what ‘new’ tasted like

But I’m the climber
you’re the performer
I’ll get back up
/You can’t climb that high /

But thank you for the inspiration

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