Its been long dead but I can still feel it.
The blood has long since run dry.
I sit here and I could swear that its still with me, but in the end just a trick of the mind on my body. It only happens at a certain time in the day, but when it does it brings all the old pain right back to the surface.
And no matter how many times it happens and I'm let down, the hope punctured and deflating like a forgotten birthday balloon.
I can't help but still wish, that someday my phantom limb would not be phantom, and once again I could pick up and hear your voice at the other end.
The blood has long since run dry.
I sit here and I could swear that its still with me, but in the end just a trick of the mind on my body. It only happens at a certain time in the day, but when it does it brings all the old pain right back to the surface.
And no matter how many times it happens and I'm let down, the hope punctured and deflating like a forgotten birthday balloon.
I can't help but still wish, that someday my phantom limb would not be phantom, and once again I could pick up and hear your voice at the other end.
