I know that some nights
you just wanted to die.
So you'd
muster up your fear,
and split your anatomy open
so you could
pour the pain,
from your thighs
to the bathroom floor's eager mouth.
So I kiss these scars
until they're tattooed with my image
so you'll remember
that it is okay to smile instead.
We'll illuminate
the darkness in the room
so that you can see
that yesterday really is dead.
We'll go stand on its grave
and sing our odes
to it's demise,
in hopes of keeping our dreams alive,
so we can use them
for stitchthread to sew
these not-so-small
holes shut,
and remember what it was like
to live for a living.

08/09/2012

Posted on 08/09/2012
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