I see the cracks in my stars
and yours
and they look no different
from all the mistakes:
your lying and cheating,
all my broken promises.
I don’t have a reason
for every day like you do
I’m lost in the passage of seconds,
in every pause before your heartbeat
Closet full of wax
skeletons I can’t get rid of
They tend to melt
in the cold of your heart
and shape into the only worry
I've ever had:
what will I do when
the spot beside me is empty
where you used to sleep
and the sheets are cold?