Deep Questions

Who will I cry to
when you’re gone away,
when you’re gone away
to where you think you belong,
when you’re with your tribe,
when you find the people
who will never betray you,
never lie to you,
never tell you anything you don’t want to hear?
Who will listen to my heart,
who will blow me kisses
and let me lick the peach juice from her lips?
Who will taste my words first,
and love me like only the water can,
when I am angry,
and I just need something
to drink all the heat out of me,
and set me free to float under the stars?
Who will I sing to, when you’re gone?

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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