You are like a landmine, I’m trying not to set you off. Choking from the inside out, on the smoke that I cough. I don’t know where you lie.

Wings set hard, laying on the tile floor. Dead moth in the stairwell. Figures pass by; shadows bounce off

I have no way, no escape to calm their suspicions. I feel them looking, seeking,

Words are like art. Reading the text on a page and wishing I could write like tha… like words that spill from my pen come so naturally and

God, I think you’re there, but at home in my bed alone, it’s hard to know that you hear. I want to believe that you care,

I’ll crawl into your bed and burrow under your covers. I’ll be your little secret, so quiet and so afraid. You’re killing me.

I can’t stop thinking What’s the point? When I stop speaking It’s myself I disappoint. When I stop texting,

How fragile are you, I’m so reckless. You let me past your iron bars and I gave you more scars. But you hurt me, too.

The sullen piano notes of the broken hearted folks ring and never stop ringing. The sound fades, but it still plays.