2am

the words which are stuck

somewhere,

twisted together around torn minutes of

apathy and fear -

.

they eat away

at my bones.

fighting each other,

only to be spoken;

to be heard.

.

i am left with the edges of a story.

edges that are torn.

.

the rest of the words are stuck

at the back of your throat.

.

i thought i felt a hint of them,

but if they aren't pressed and rolled together

into words,

how do i know that the thoughts are real?

.

instead they never happened,

blue.

.

my fingers are still cold,

and i turn again,

head in palm,

looking into a blur of time.

.

i am a half.

but between the thoughts;

between the lines

which are blue eyes,

..

i was something else entirely.

.

i went back for them -

the words from the page i couldn't finish reading.

.

Tell me if i can find them.

Tell me if they are there at all.

.

ally.

i don't know if i like this.

sorry if it's really bad, i'm still spending all my time

writing the script for my short film.