I've always felt a strong pulling towards the earth in my palms
Something beautiful about dirt filling the cracks left gaping
Band aid measure of a tired fault
The sun burns holes in my paper skin
Leaving behind a ransome note for my spite
Little days find longer months
Bringing telephone heartbreak to the girl made of angles
She pulls the mud over her eyes
Bringing warmth to a time of no sunshine
No time to sit, she sleeps under her old grave