It's a song, based on a very short plotless story I wrote once. I'm not quite sure why I chose this title, maybe I'll change it. Snow Lips purple, like the eraser at the end of the pencil That wrote his life His eyes, a bonfire Drowned in rain He is too tired to breathe Too tired to shut his eyes He doesn't, know what happens to The actors After the curtain falls He is, no longer Thinking of you Maybe he understands now Or maybe it doesn't matter I hold, his white crystal hand Snow is falling Years slowly freeze You look, at my eyes But can't understand That even if I could I would not bring him back
This is lovely, I especially like the first few lines, about his lips purple as the eraser at the end of the pencil that wrote his life...it was clever the way you linked your ideas as well as the words
Yeah, I must admit that this entire poem was written for the sake of those few lines. I was sitting on the grass field in my university, sketching what's in front of my eyes with a pencil (this was my first time using one in years) when I suddenly thought of this line. I wrote it down... Tried to make a story out of it... Didn't work, so I wrote the poem
