The scars you leave on me are just tattoos that no one else can see, they've bled ad nauseam, invisible ink pouring from the pores of lashes and old sores, a tale of muted agony tailed by the ****** of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I knew.
The stars you leave me with are just dreams that we abandoned, racing to prove they once existed recalling how it once was like to be kissed by light before bleeding across a generation of galaxies to exile in your soft, cold cheeks as pale. I knew.
The jars you leave me in are just the parts you want to be, containers of convenient, misfits for what really happened, they leave nil to breathe: for fusing crimson curiosities, building empires of what if, or asking. Only me in pieces. I new.
I'd lose you.
*Partially inspired by Sophie Ellis-Bextor's "The Walls Keep Saying Your Name"