here lies the boy who gave too much,
the boy that could have been someone’s prince,
in another life,
in another world,
on your throne made
of thin glass.
your silver medal is the chain around your neck,
it’s crucifixion,
standing trial by fire,
rosaries and scars, and ashes, ashes, we all fall down,
we’ve all got rotten posies in our pockets.
you fell from grace when you least expected it,
a sinner and a heartbreaker,
instead of the saint and healer you wanted to be.
with a soul in your hand and a smirk on your lips,
you held me close with no idea how to love.
but you wanted to, oh, I know you did, you ached for it,
felt It in your bones,
and your heart,
and your beautiful mind.
you built your love on lies and texts and late-night calls,
your calculated chaos too thin to hold your weight
and mine.
the third time I lost you, I was gone before I could finish the story.