I take my family photo albums
And pin those ghosts down to the walls
I keep running to my past trying my best to bring it back to life
always thinking “there’s a real life haunting.”
when I see myself any younger than 19
I take my family photo albums
And try to pin down your love
as if I’ll be able to see the warning signs
if it’s been written on the walls
I keep running back to my past like an old wives tale  
half told truths slipping through hands
and passing from mouth to mouth
Landing on my dinner plate filling it all the way up
I take my family photo albums
and wonder “why is it?”
I do not recognize who is staring back
I keep running back to my past
trying to find out everything about who I am

- I've been trying to find clues about who hid me away

My star,
Your white studded boots are to young to be walking this path
Street lamps highlighting
Copper glitter dusted on cheekbones
and butterflies pinned down to blonde curls
You look as if you know-
delicate like the back of your hand
As if you know how innocent can become like a practised thing
My darling,
This isn’t the way-
you want your name on the lips of people you’ve never met
Caught between teeth and never said in the daylight
To be stashed below mattresses
In-between web folders saved as something else
Only to be brought out when alone
My sun,
Being adored is only as gold as the girl and you lost your midis touch
Dawn breaks ago /Heartbreaks ago
Now theres nothing but an inexcusable ache
your trying to rid your self of by illuminating all those your with
My truth,
White picket fence you are not
But those boots are not made to walk this walk
You’ve found yourself on


- Baby its time to run run run

I will ask you again about holy
How do you become?
I'll wait patiently for the tales of faith
You love so much
Hoping to find virtue just like you
I’ll argue with you about the devotion you have
( slow, sweet, and full like the beat of your heart)
Moon lit and radiant
How can I become haunted like you?
I’ve been on my knees before
(never for the right reasons)
I've talked at god more times then I can count
I have never felt anything other than the empty echo of silence after
I want to know what it feels like to have faith in something else
Of someone else
When those nights are dark, cold, and endless
I’ll ask you one last time
How do I become holy and haunted

- You tell me -They are the same thing.