old poems, poetry

eight.

futuristic heartbeats will sound more like police sirens, i think.

the hair on the back of my neck won’t relax when I feel your eyes on me,

they must not understand how in love I am… though, don’t you think?

I wish she would stop talking,

I wish she would stop talking.

my intentions. (guilty).

her voice is too quiet to be heard, I don’t want to hear it.

off with her head.

 

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