i ****** myself to hell
because
it was all i was good for.

And I suppose its poetic that my bones snapped
to every beat of your heart,
that my body gave out every time you looked at me;
lighting in your eyes.
And I suppose its poetic that i've only ever felt hell
when i've been in love with you.

you take what you get
and you learn to live
with the way it all ends.

Every time you laugh i'm caught in the edges of an abyss,
like i'm drowning in the constant birth and death of a star.
and I cant help but wonder if this is all you’ve ever been.
The flesh and bones you inhabit now.
I can't help but wonder if you watched from the edges of the earth
and saw humanity love and die and wonder what it would be like,
to  live a life where you were something other than ash in the wind.

you wrapped your unending vulnerability
inside a cocoon of every single one of the
foul deeds you committed.
every shameful secret you bought to life.

and you wonder why you can never grow strong.
why the only part of you that can take a hit
is the armour you bought for far too little
to bleed into your blood stream and offer your body
the support your degenerate being can't supply.

And you say god lives in a church
but i've felt her in the moments
before our skin touches.

I've seen her when i bawl my eyes out
to a moon who does nothing
but ignore me.

I'm not religious but 
 if faith brings me something other
than the lonley feeling in my gut,
then i dont know why
I haven't converted yet.