Tears of My fingers

Midnight, finally, sound made by the sorrow of my step, The motion of the gentle air fog passing under my neck, cold, while your are sleeping.

I sit infront of My grey type machine, looking back to your sexy  Silhouette portrait On the bed, making the perfect musai.

No I wont, I prefer to do  this alone,  Tomorrow I'll be gone, yes i am in a state of denial,  you Know I won't come. 

A promise will be break, allready broke, wrong? Is for the best of us, I know you are not sleep  you are just doing the act of Hypnagogia with your eyes Close, Knowing what Im writing, because what im writing is making a  sad tone.

One by one your cochlea and your eight nerve  are translating  every keys i type, you stand up, sat down on My Back,  your tears falling through  My arms all the way down to My fingers , Making me write the world Dont hit the road.You know ill be miserable Alone. Dont go. 

Sena
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