His words like weights dragging me down
I never knew words could create such a storm
I’m pretty certain he’d rather not have me around
I know he’s cold but I’m still so warm
We are headed right for ghost town
You better turn around
We’re headed for ghost town
It’s a cold, cold battleground
Don’t you want to be found?
Will you please make a sound?
I guess love is an art form?
© Delia Ross. 2019