your heart it grew as heavy as your eyelids. covered in black pencil.
your hands seemed like the basis of violence. the paint to the artists stencil.
but we both know i'm just the dust thats on your bookshelf. ready to fall. and be swept away.
left behind like the clothes that you grew out of. because leaving. was never easy.
waving goodbye from the backseat. the image never left me. i can't stop thinking of your heartbeat.
where will you call home?
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