My pen's at lost for words, as it says
I'm losing my touch
that we argue in loud,
"I don't lose mine",
-as it starts to suffocate within the grip of my hand.
"It's her touch that's gone".
The grip is so tight that it can't speak.
It penned itself some words,
"Try not to read it out loud, or else--" it whispers.
"-you'll break to pieces."
And I learn it
-we don't lose thing we don't have"
And that silence
still tears me apart.