I've been handed the guilt without a choice like my mom was handed the news paper every Sunday morning, though instead of my words appearing in thin neat print they're scrambled a crossed this ******* page that each of my tears has stricken tonight. my words are crumpled and frayed soon to be burning in the pit of my stomach where you never had the chance to sit. but like the fire already started, my mind is spinning through the constellation of my own and seeping it's way into the black hole that i planted upon my wrists the night when my insomnia was at it's worse and you were lost in you're own fantasy. though I wish I could say the same the only thing lost in me were my thoughts about the two of us because they escaped somewhere between chasing the North Star and coming to find my smile on the moon.