To lay my torn up hands
Upon the porcelain past
Cold against the callouses

All but within my chest

Broken glass is the time we had
Grains of sand falling always
our words shifting too fast

lonesome, knowing approaches

Where hindsight provides
The vastness embued by when
Here in a now unwanted

All but in my chest unnoticed

Borrowing tears from better versions
While choking on the words I use
Dreams hold more weight certainly

These hours I stay tragically on then
Far off and away days feel and echo in

Any but this person I spoil my nights with
Nonfunctioning and spilkjngly incoherent