Something about the way my lips whisper words to broken songs tells them I’m empty.
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Do you remember the day they said there was nothing they could do anymore, the day your breath caught in your throat for a second and you didn’t cry because tears aren’t a healer no matter what people say. Your head burns and you long to rip the sun from the sky because other people shouldn’t deserve to see beauty if your world is smeared by the words you never learned how to say.
You’re selfish but somehow for this one moment you don’t care.
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Your fingers tap out disjointed melodies on table tops, hands swaying as you beat out the hate tucked under your palms. You wish someone could deconstruct you to see if there really is a heart under your ribcage, fold their fingers under your bones and pull until your body cracks and your truth is exposed. Caressing your arms you wonder why no one else can see the blood hurling itself against your skin, desperate to escape the poison painting your veins.
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Sometimes your voice whispers fragments to the sky, arms stretched upwards as if someone will clutch your fingers and soar you towards a heaven you never learned to believe in. Your arms fall to your sides when you remember that no god could fix your defects. You drown yourself in vodka and too many tears and forget you ever lived.
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Sometimes god,
i think i feel you breathing
but all you leave is fault
against my bones
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