I split my skull to see your memory projected in pools of blood on the kitchen floor. The knives were never enough to keep you alive.

I dug a ditch in the garden 6-feet deep to bury my soul with yours and I couldn't breathe without hyperventilating every other moment.

Tear me apart and put the pieces in boxes of grey and white. Never did they fit into those square pegs and square holes. I found my blood boiled at every misdirection.

Even though we argued all the time the garden took control and the weeds and flowers outgrew us. The knives we placed bloomed and blossomed.