Some people shape them into words.
Some people organize them in rows
And the people you don't hear about anymore were making ****** columns.
Well, I think I fell in love with the way
             I could watch the pain pour away from me
and empty into a dark puddle of crimson warmth.         I left puzzles under my skin; deep lines that
              intersected at dead ends up my sleeves
and down my ribs.  
                         Sometimes they fell apart into this
rAnD0m mess all over my ankles.
     Everything that touched me was immediately
lost in these chaotic pools raining from my veins.
  I woke up early most mornings to drown my
insides in a sea of hot liquor.
                                 You knocked on my door
holding a coffee and a pack of cigarettes.
     We counted ceiling tiles all day
with our limbs intertwined.
             You painted the fine line between
pain & romance on a white canvas
& hung it over my bed.
            I stayed underneath it most nights but
every time I crossed it, I called you just to weep
into the phone.
              I think you liked how much I needed you.
I think you liked feeling necessary to any
existence outside of your own
& I think I liked having a vessel to empty my sorrow into
                 so I guess that's how this goes...
the fine line between pain & romance erodes
over time or gets smeared in the heat of a moment
and here we are, watching our seams come undone at the hands of the only one who
can save us.
                  Here I am...
unraveling in the moonlight...
                         salt water tears pouring down
from my eyes to meet my chin.
                Once the romance ends we are buried in the debris.
                 The p a i n is all that's left