• tokillabibliophile 27w

    Smile

    I like how words sound,
    Rubbing against each other,
    Slowly,
    Curling like embers in warm fires.

    When you chirp like a cricket,
    And burst into flames,
    I like how these words roll out,
    Like hot cinnamon buns,
    On rainy days.

    It's not just that, though.
    Sometimes, these words go away.
    Traveling their own path,
    Into a wishing well,
    Up chilly mountaintops,
    They leave me alone and cold
    On some cloudy days.

    But they come back,
    Candles in dark corners,
    Sometimes, they stay.

    It's as they say,
    Sometimes, words are all you have,
    Sometimes, they fall short,
    Sometimes, just sometimes, strings are not silky.

    Sometimes, words are all you have,
    Sometimes, all you have is not enough.

    ┬ętokillabibliophile