she loves me and my broken heart,
the tattered mess I am,
and she deserves much more
than I can give to her.

maybe it's some kind of game she plays
with placing back the shard remains
of every shattered soul she sees,
and until now she hasn't found
but one soul battered and torn as me.

it's like she's made of flower pedals, 
always coming to full bloom;
and when I hold her in my arms she moves
the monolithic structures inside me;
as if it was a breeze, just placing them aside so I can actually walk free.

or more-so, she could get to me,
it seems. i've
been out of breath for longer than I can remember
but she'll give me hers forever.
so I've got more than I'll ever need.