I still love the way we fill in the dead spaces between us with plastic promises
And silent banter in vain
I don't think I will ever grow tired of it

It's the little things that keep us sane

Doing the most, or not enough
Doing everything and nothing all at once
I always tried so hard to be what you'd need
But it isn't like you and it isn't like me
to be laying in this field on outdated bedsheets
Ive been picking at the embroidered hearts to keep me calm
The threads dance up in the midnight as I catch them in my palm
Our pain has rhythm
And what a beautiful melody we create

Now the skeletons in our closets are moving to our heads
You think I am most beautiful when I am crying over every ugly thing you've said,
But
I am the feet that crush the trees
I am the fist that breaks the earth
I am the wind that blows the waves back where they die into the surf
I am the wrist that takes the strikings and the spine that holds you up
I am the hand that gives and takes from you when you've had enough
From the earth I have come, and to it I return
Each time I fall apart

And you dare tell me I'm not made of art?

You are the last thorn I will cut my hands on, the last rose thrown at my feet
I'll call you any other name and you'd never be as sweet

But you keep calling me sick, baby, keep calling me soft
I couldn't wait to feel the sting when I finally ripped you off