vessalofzion

I don’t write for them.
No, I can never write for them.
They’ll see my words, sprawled out,
Clumsily, unspecified,
They’ll violate them with their eyes,
But they’ll never truly understand them.
I guess in a lot of ways
Words aren’t enough.
I guess in a lot of ways, they will never be enough.
Not to subdue the ache, or this need to create.
I can’t paint my world around someone else’s,
When they’ll never live inside it.

The Fox and The Rabbit danced under the stars in a vacant meadow where the bones of the Fox's last partners lay