i don't want to write
i want to bleed out
and water the daffodils with my crimes
i need to be cleansed by fire
and buried in the wet earth of my grief

i cannot breathe without your steady hand
pressing me awake
but i suppose i cannot breathe
when your ribs sit in front of me,
waiting to cracked open

do i reach into your chest cavity
and drink of your secrets?
for they do not fall from those lips i so freely kiss

i have waded through thick fog
with your fingers interlaced with mine
but perhaps i have blindly followed my own demise
holding the hand of a stranger

my mask lies on the floor at your feet
and still you ask me to the masquerade

this is not a castle,
though you were once my queen
jewels are heavy
i hope my broken heart was worth the price
of having the pieces inlaid in your crown