no roughing, just thoughts

Too many moons passed,stars forced into pockets laced once upon a time dreams. A mountain of lost coins and silver dollars ripping at the seams.

Dirty laundry.

Hope? (for lack of better words) Need? (for lack of better choices) Night-terror stricken daydreams?

Blank stares.

I became home; a comforting silence as you repeatedly knocked on my door, forgetting to wipe your filthy soul clean.

soles* clean

(a reminder of the importance in proper spelling.)

another heart lost to wishful thinking.