We have a special place for thoughts in the course of our veins; When how our lungs hold all the memories and fragile moments that we seem to never forget,

We forget to take care of the air between our ribs when we realize that our bones have begun to rust,

I do not wish to fall apart; But my skin has gone quite brittle and grey,

The lining around every tear that I shall drop becomes something more; It turns into a mold that covers my heart,

A fragile glass that can break; With the weight of too much pain, It soon begins to crack into meaningless pieces,

I think it would be best if I wasn't around, If I was alone;

When the rest of me starts to decay away.

c.c.