This feeling deep down inside.
Don't know what it is,
But it's eating me alive.

These monsters of the mind,
They make their victims cower.
You can run, but you can't hide,
Because from beneath you, they devour.

These demons of the soul
They're the thoughts that scare you most.
You can't even feel whole,
Because you're empty. You're a ghost.

But you don't know what are these things.
So you always wonder - "who?"
Are they evil creatures? Fiends?
The answer is simple.
It's you.

These fears of the heart,
They turn you into a coward.
Even when you run, you're back on the start.
Because from inside you... it devours.

Late at night,
when the stars find their way through
the blinds on my window,
and the shadows decide
to crawl into my soul,
your velvet voice and luscious scent
chase my dreams away.

Sometimes silence means more
than all of the words in existence.

Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.

I'll take them.

All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.


Give them to me.
I will take them.

Give them to me.


They are wanted here.


All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.

Give them to me.

And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.

Let me have them.

And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.

I will take them.

And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.

Let me have them.

And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.

Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.

Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:

“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”

“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”

“You were all my brightest colors.”

“I wish I were more like you.”

“I wish I were less like me.”

“I am sped.”

And we will read them at dawn like litany.

Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.

That we may take them.

And make a blanket.

A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.

I will take them.

All the parts you no longer want.

Give them to me.

Because they are what make us beautiful.

Give them to me.

That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.

That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.

Give them to me.
I will take them.

Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.

I secretly hope
She doesn't learn from our past
So she'll repeat me.