My lungs were not made of glass
But of mirrors
Reflecting the hollows they occupy
And my bones were not made of ashes
But if they had been
They would still be worth more than the dirt
Beating in your chest
That mine so desperately craves

Same song Different Unbearable-
tune

Dreading
Many
somethings

Except-
Clicking pieces
A Timeless Touching
Dreaming From early dawns
Hour

The grayness of everyday has become a comfort
Such that when the sun rises
It hurts to look

When I look at him I wonder if he even knows he's addicted. Addicted to the way she laughs, and how the curves of her mouth turn up into a smile. If he knows he is drunk on the way that she sighs at the rain, or how she talks to the cat late at night. Does he know that she is what makes his reality worth it? And at the same time I wonder if she knows. If she knows that he the reason the blood races through her veins. If she knows that he is the reason that her lungs feel so full. That he is the dizzy lightheadedness, the weightless feeling within. Does she know that he is what creates her earth?

He wanted to be a gravedigger
A man bold enough to discover the past
Someone to show that our bodies return
To the earth that created us

hope