fingerprint-stained photos

it's three am,
and i'm alone with my thoughts.
(it's a dangerous place
 for a little girl to be
 in the middle of the night)
and i'm playing your words
over and over
in my head,
to remember a piece of you
that i lost so long ago.
and i feel like walking;
feel like escaping for awhile.
but there's no light to brighten
the dark corridors of my mind.
so i sit here,
and i run my fingers over your photo,
and i miss the boy that i never had.

more of my poetry!

Hosted by