She awaited love in a room void of meaning, hoping she’d spot it along the glittering light but she found herself suffocating on the words she chose to live by. All she was: dust on the lace curtains that locked in her eyes.
She awaited love in a room void of meaning, sitting nude by the phone, waiting for a lover who never calls but death’s fateful chimes were nearby, reminding her of promises she ought to keep to a life she’s yet to leave.
She died in a room that was once void of meaning, but now it has stories to be told of a girl that died with an aching soul, waiting for love, hoping she’d spot it along the glittering light but all she saw was darkness in every corner of her wide eyes
I think those walls can speak or am I hallucinating? Have I had too much to drink because I’ve once gone to visit her home and I heard them speaking, telling the story of the girl who awaited love in a room void of meaning when love was standing right outside the door.