I no longer house sanity
only ghosts that were never
told how to move on.
maybe we used to be the same,
but now your cracked reflection
only adds to my years of bad luck
you never counted the lines in my smile,
or the notes between my freckles,
you only measured me.
I'm something to get by on,
but I'm simply not enough.
my watered-down voice
is growing weaker.
and you feed me sugar pills
to diminish the pain
(these bones still bleed)
there are vultures in your eyes,
they know what's coming next
children call on saviors to vanquish demons
from their closets and I'm begging
the silent priests to
they didn't understand what I meant
when I said you stole my breath away
if I turn on the lights,
would you disappear like the times
when I needed help?
I live in waking fear of silence
(I know it's where you wait)