i'm about to open a casket of dead things that i never wanted to look at again
but the fact that you've walked all over the grave makes me sad so i'm opening it and i'm showing people the parts of me that died and why i'm alive but still broken (a little)
you asked if he'd ever defiled me in any way, shape, or form
words count, right
well
i was honest and told you the ways and shapes that my body had gotten away from me a little
in his hands
and you
well
after we stopped talking you made light of everything
and this is just a nonsensical rant jammed between dirt and worms in a can
but i wish i'd known that i meant more to you than those things
if not right now, at least in the past
but i guess i shouldn't expect so much from you anymore