More than love,
sometimes it is
the fear of being alone.
Because loneliness
creates a haunting echo
of our silence.

Isn't that why
we seek broken things,
and broken men?

So that we
fix instead of break
at least for once.

So that we
leave our signatures
in the loosely filled
cracks and scars.

So that they
cannot recall life
but after we set
their hearts beating again.

So that every time
they take their clothes off,
they can see us
sewed to their skin.

And be proud
to call it ours.

I want to tell you
everything.

Everything there is
to know about me.

About how I ran from
the highest hill down
to feel the air push
me behind.

Once I bent down
before God
and asked Him to give me
death over happiness.

I used to believe that
dust was nothing but
dead memories
fallen away from us.

I will tell you everything.
If only you asked.

Because I want to.

I want to give you
a piece of my mind.
I want you to get
inside the mind that controls
this melancholy body.

I want you to get
inside the chambers of my heart
and wrest dark secrets
from its broken symphonies.

Fix it.

You?
I will tell you anything.