portrait
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When the song plays I see my treasure, the person who I care about.
A bitter sweet song that gives me a sign that you are still waiting for me.
Light shady hair
That lays softly and carressing his lonely thoughts
Habits that glorfies the flaws in his stormy eyes
Taunt fingers touch the stringsAll musings of pain forgottenWeightlessly they float over and againIn a delicate repetitious pattern
He’s got the kind of name that sounds good no matter what you pair it with
He’s got the kind of fingertips that are maybe a little too soft
Your legs were too skinny for your shorts
The day you walked into the room, your cotton shirt
About to billow, as if it could, on the unseen zephyr of your shoulders:
We come upon a crowded room,
Where presently our character does loom,
Tangled in the voices she
Can’t think straight, or feel glee,
So she sits and looks outside
And tries to go beyond her mind
Hanging on the wall, with four corners in the air;
Happy friendly faces, it's shown perfectly and clear.
Picture perfect, perfect picture;
A great memory to me;
When I'm down and out,
