colorado.

she moves just like i wish you did.
but i don't think i wish you were alive again.
then what would happen to my creative pen?
with nothing to write about, life is good underneath the flow.

suited man, god knows he looks away.
whatever happened to being confident?
you're just a black and white lament.
a poem that reads, "your eyes are quick and your bed thinks worse of me".

storming across her mind, i find a song.
it's carefully written yet scarcely rehearsed.
don't you dare jump, i'd like to play it first.
without a ticket home, she stands above raging whiteness.

-babyblue.