My parts are dismantled
They lay scattered
Occupying the corners in this empty house
So sometimes it's not that lonely

My lungs are deflated
I think a kid came around wanting to play and kicked it way too hard

Nobody knows this
But everytime I move or breathe
My nerves scream or hold their breath
Because about two nights ago
I layed parallel to the white dotted line on the street
I meant to get up but I thought that if I tried hard enough, I could communicate telepathically with the stars and then maybe get closer to heaven
The wheels of a truck made me one with the earth for about 6 seconds
And because my anatomy is empty and numb
The fingers of my ribs caved in
Like the roof of a house built around a broken family

I got popcorn for a horror movie marathon
I couldn't sleep for weeks thereafter because sometimes even if I shut my eyes so tight I exposed every wrinkle
Or blocked my ears so much that I caused an imbalance in the pressure
I could still see and hear the images and the voices

Present day:
It's raining outside
And I don't know if it's because
Of the insync instrumentals of the raindrops hitting the floor at different frequencies, almost like a lullaby
Just like the time when it was just you and I
When all we had planned to do was sweet nothings
And sometimes, if I was lucky
I'd hear you sing too
But it's days like these when your absence makes my house tremble and sometimes even shatters a window

But then the grey skies slowly break
And it is as if a servant had opened up the palace doors to make way for the King

The Sun tears the mirage
And tells me
That it wasn't the kid
You took all the air along with you when you left
It wasn't a truck
When your foot kissed the hard ground just outside the door, it heard the deafening cracks form their way across my structure
I am empty because I gave you glasses half full
It was not a horror movie
It was images of you being too far gone
And your voice
Like a broken record saying
*Love isn't always enough