love me now or i'll go crazy
the sand in the hour glass in running out, it looks like its going through the glass table of our fingers,our hands fitting together like a gloves soaked in blood, too tight cutting off the flow to the rest. the more the sand runs freely to the floor, we get into fights, barely talk, and have conversations strictly about the love between the sheets.
serious conversations become a joke, the moon turns in the sun, and the snow turns into water..
but neither one of us wants to be the first to say goodbye.
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