Suspended in the rough fabrications of death.
My hollow heart beating out for yours,
how it misses the empty, frivolous days.
The days when nothing meant everything.
I've always felt the hush of compelling silence,
the wind of all our empty screams scratching at my skin.
But you taught me to see past that.
You taught me to let you in.
Words are sticking, clinging to my throat.
The emptiness swabbing the wounds with salt water,
the aching internal sting of a broken heart
and the desire to feel anything other than the eerie, chilling stillness
of the shadows.
But all life is, is smiles mounted and framed.
But as do the glass cases of happiness,
we crack and shatter.
We're left vulnerable to the thumb prints of
careless children,
vulnerable to our edges folding
and folding and folding
until we become so creased, we can't see straight.
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