There’s a warmness to your touch
And a cleanness to your air
There’s a bitterness to your tongue.. you can’t taste it

There’s a cold region
In the backspace of your mind
There’s an empty spine in your journal

I see nothing wrong this way
There is something wrong you say
I feel right in every place
You talk less and less each day

There’s a false embrace
You often give
There’s a fickle touch… I can feel it

Do you often think
In the backspace of your mind
That you couldn’t be… does it bother you?

I see nothing wrong this way
There is something wrong you say
I feel right in every place
You talk less and less each day