Stuck between wanting to disappear
and forget that you could ever mean more to me than just a friend
or sticking around to dig a little deeper into your mind,
but when I stay it feels like I'm digging my own grave.

My body's become a graveyard for all the places your hands have touched more than my skin.
You don't visit anymore and the flowers you left have wilted away along with the memories on your fingers laced with mine.
My hands have been shaking since you left, wishing you would come back one last time.
I hope you choke on your goodbyes while you kiss the tombstone that reads "cause of death: your hands" and its not the only one.

She's a graveyard and each cause of death is a different way you used to make her feel alive.