and when there's nothing left
don't forget me
but don't remember me wrong

i am buried under your idea of security
in separate rooms, where the only sounds are the
summer fan and the laptop keys, not the keys
that made me flinch when i heard them in the door

i am buried under your idea of forever
location dictated by your success, which
apparently, i lack so much of when you tell me
all about the things i should have done
(which wouldn't have changed your mind anyway)

i am buried under your idea of home
where the holes were filled two years ago
and the sound i heard
the thud, thud, thud against the drywall
was the beating of our hearts when we make it through
another one

and another one,
and i'm buried in the pillow
and it's the duvet, not your hands
(even though i still feel them all over)
and they hurt, and your lips taste like
rotten fruit and guilt and shame
and no amount of scrubbing will
let me forget you

and when there's everything left
i'll remember you right
where i found you, and where you will stay
in a cold glass box, all locked up
sound familiar?

between the head and heart, you must reside
and carry on, regardless of the weight -
i hope you never see your worlds collide

if you can fight the emptiness inside
the battle's almost won, so close the gate;
between the head and heart, you must reside

it's tempting, yes, but you will be denied
from understanding, only left to hate
i hope you never see your worlds collide

discard the hunger, balance out the tide
you'll learn that dying lies in taking bait
between the head and heart, you must reside

and in you now, i know i must confide
there's so much strength in keeping in this state
i hope you never see your worlds collide

your twin-set mind, a natural divide
but you were always destined to create
between the head and heart, you must reside;
i hope you never see your worlds collide.

at times, i wish my eyes had only seen
horizon's haze of darkened clouds instead
ignored the sirens calling so serene
and burnt the bridge that carried off the dead
but i did not, and borne from what we hate
come roses blooming, bloodstains on the dirt
in time, they reach the same destructive fate
and we, the lowly seekers, reach the hurt
the heart we wear upon our sleeves is broke
with every tear, the stitches hold less deep
as time moves on, we try to quell the smoke
of fire raging just before we sleep

at times, i think we're better off as friends
but god, i hope the tempest never ends

it's something only felt in bones
scraped up shards split open
by three days' grace
and forty four days' solitude
when i'm picking up
pieces of my soul
shoving them into canvas
hastily snapping twigs to
build a new nest for the winter
i feel like a hawk on the edge of a cliff.

i could do it, you know
and i tell you that every time
i could fly if my wings weren't clipped
freshly broken-tipped
slicked with oil, with dirt
and the wrong kind of paint
and i'd fall
not like i did before
but fifty thousand feet above the ground.

a mid-air pirouette
trapeze artist over train tracks
salt-stained acrobat
swinging from the power lines
where the safety net was torn in the storm

but oh, for ten seconds of freedom
who cares about hitting rock bottom?

right now, i am a glockenspiel
drunken tin can symphonies
bells on broken pavements,
cracks where lullabies sink beneath the waves

right now, i am a myth
the bringer of the end, whereby
i flood the minds of a writer
who describes the way i love her to the death

right now, i am the full blood moon
aligned to fit your path, alone but
cross’d the broken heart and
hope to die, among the living spoken still

there is light, you know.
yet i remove it, force a halo -
rip the life-lines clean
from veins of liquid gold