I am so sick of holding on to things that have no grip that slip out of my fingertips like dust like when you told me your back doesn't bend sideways and you swore my hands were your favorite thing. and I believed you. because you have a way of saying things that seem like they will last forever but they always end up fading away like your whispers .. or your touch. and you swore to me that my voice was the only thing that kept you apart when your spine was the only thing holding you together you should've told me you felt like snapping like twigs in a forest dry and brittle because they have nothing holding on to them giving them life and baby you should've never told me that you are dead. that you've been dead for years now and you've given me a piece of you to hold on to baby you should've told me you are a ghost.