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Description
Like trying to draw a face you've seen too many times to count.

In your dreams, through your tears, seeping like a poison in your dumb-little-girl heart.

You get hung up on the things you think you see in his eyes, and how he always looks through you like glass. Aching to feel your way over the lines in his face from too many frowns. To brush back his hair. To let his voice resonate and echo through your mind and ears like a sacred Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus Benedictus, Dies Irae, in a Catholic mass. His thin smile. His crinkled, concentrating nose.

Like trying to draw a face you've seen too many times to count, your hand shakes, or your pencil breaks. You always find an excuse to do a further study.

Description
Like trying to draw a face you've seen too many times to count.

In your dreams, through your tears, seeping like a poison in your dumb-little-girl heart.

You get hung up on the things you think you see in his eyes, and how he always looks through you like glass. Aching to feel your way over the lines in his face from too many frowns. To brush back his hair. To let his voice resonate and echo through your mind and ears like a sacred Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus Benedictus, Dies Irae, in a Catholic mass. His thin smile. His crinkled, concentrating nose.

Like trying to draw a face you've seen too many times to count, your hand shakes, or your pencil breaks. You always find an excuse to do a further study.