i like that my bloodlines
run like your bloodlines
like the salty sea spray
you exhale when you
dream at night

That's me, pure fragility
Been broken and put back together too many times
Honestly, the lines are getting weaker
And the cracks take so much less
To shatter the shards into pieces
Of broken heart

I'm too fragile to handle any more pain
And too hurt to hold on
When there's nothing to gain

You begin to feel lonely
living in an empty house,
that is not four walls
but two eyes and lungs.
Vacant stomach full
of whiskey to **** the demons
dormant in your cells.

You fight her ghost
until 3am.
Driven by
your drunken stupor,
you call her.

Your dial tone
is just as detrimental to her
as hearing your voice.
But you call her anyways
trying to make yourself less sick.

You hold all the things she gave you
to your chest as you put the
phone down
and her voice-mail
plays in the background.

You think of the hope
that was in your eyes
when she looked at you
and saw forever,
replay the image and wishing
it would be there tomorrow.

Too selfish to let go,
so you still haven't returned her veins
that you have embedded into your own.

Those things of hers you guard
are parts of her soul.
But,
she has learned to replace
those parts you stole
with feeling indifference.

You call her again
blind to the scars
you have caused to her heart
because your own hands
are lush and green
from the energy of others.

You've,
depleted her of everything
and left a skeleton,
yet you have the audacity
to ask her
for her bones also.

Her voice-mail plays
over again.
As you try to fall asleep
with her ghost.

Broken bones
of weak kneed boys scattered
in eyes of great empires.

Exploring forbidden roman ruins
sacred grounds of turmoil history.
Going to bed won't be easy
if I cause another casualty.

Words of my mother explain
for the fallen cathedrals.
Expectations were too grand
and so they crumbled.

Steps should be
calculated and careful.
My words should be
soft spoken,
to blanket heads in flowers;
she instructed.

My heavy footsteps are
to blame for fallen bricks.
My words, bees
that sting from passion wings.

As I explore broken bones
of the weak kneed boy sanctioned
in fallen empire sleep.

Stop handing out pieces of yourself like you've got anything left to spare.