your eyes confuse me because often,
you look angry.
i’ve always misinterpreted our 2am conversations, you give your miracles
but you’re no prophet, not to me.
i sit on your carpet,
you fall asleep in a hurting sun.
i am forever leaving at 6 am.
you, you’ve tied 3 am around your tongue,
well i needed a break from all of that, y’see
staring into you
whilst you analyse my little head
for all my flaws and mistakes,
they shed and peel, but i am probably the ghost that stands under your archway at night
i kick the leaves outside my home in manchester
i have been thinking about you
i don’t think this is going to work,