Unwritten

Ode to an Imaginary Friend

gridmarked:

I wish I could wear you
As a scar upon my skin
A mark appearing ever-new
A marring for my sin
You are a constant fever
A flushing in my flesh
Be the fulcrum to my lever
And in my arms enmesh
We’ll smooth away the darkness
And enfold it in our hands
Like molding clay with fingers press
Shaping brand-new lands
If we are only to believe what these senses feel
What does it matter, if you are false or real?

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    I wish I could wear you As a scar upon my skin A mark appearing ever-new A marring for my sin You are a constant fever A...
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