Red fibers missing from stained lips
Oceans colluding in eyes far from home
Bruises on calves from hands like trees
Tongues patchy and burned from coffee you didn't need
Notes and pictures from times we loved
Deep crimson stains on sleeves I can't wash
Because
You are
Gone
But you still resonate
In the static mess
In the sticky
Junk
That I've always called my head
So I return to where I belong
In a grandeur state of disillusionment
To obtaining salvation over the counter
Of writing records where you can hear my heart break
I am
Back
I am the monster with too many hearts
I am the ocean without a current
I am placid bleak
Sky
With pink tissue missing and jagged edges
I carve along the roots of my
Trees
Sit on a bridge
And hope that the sky and I meet

******* through his teeth
The runner carries on
No arms to love his lover
No hands to play his song
Squinting through his tears
The runner carries on
No heart to love his lover
No head to write his song
No clock move forward
No bag to hold his bones
No blood to fill his veins
No house to call his home
You probably think it's pleasant
To have a mouth filled up with stars
The runner will tell you otherwise
That he's a liar; yes you are
Of course it's very fickle
The pain the runner feels
But every time he loses himself
The demons back off of his heels
So if you ask the runner
Why it is he runs
He'll probably end up telling you
Its always just for fun
Runner, runner, runner
Runner; run, run, run
No arms to love his lover
No hands to hold his gun