Empty Lungs, Full Stomach
/can't sing but my voice shakes when I yell, keeping time, stronger than before
/can't remember my own lyrics but if I keep dancing you won't ask me to repeat myself, rocking back and forth, weaving limbs through a needle big enough for two
/can't move my feet in time but no one's noticed yet and my heels don't do so well in sand, so I'll paint you the same picture until I get it right (correct me if I'm wrong)
waiting to go home, but you asked for my address and my throat closed shortly after my eyes did the same, the voice I was using fading into yours,
telling me it seems like I've been begging history to repeat itself for the third time this week,
stretching my toes further than the soles of my shoes,
tearing the tongue out to make room, singing along to the sound of your leaving,
I am walking you to the door and wishing you safe travels under my breath, just to see how far my voice carries you, or what wet paint looks like behind thick skin.
Posted Feb 12, 2021, 1:24 PM UTC · edited
Wow, the way this is written feels like resignation. As if one wants to change and can't. I love the descriptive nature you've given it, as if the narrator is fighting against their own body. Beautifully done!
thank you!