There are pearls that form
from frozen mist
from silver clouds
Which carry my breath
as I breathe your name;
To pluck from air
To strand together
And wear around my throat.

I am a heart caged by bone wrapped by skin. I have felt tears frozen on flesh as they fall. I sleep in the shadows I have not seen the sun for days. I am broken but I can’t hurt you. And I would break still infinite times over.

So you don’t have to.

Brittle and breakable bones. The wretched frame you now parade in, seeking company with the vermin. Cobweb spaces filled with dead air. Shifting shapes meant to intimidate. Stilted. Hollow. There is a story behind this. You shall tell it as such: Grandiose memories fabricated in place of ruins. Of how things came to fall, of why they came to end. A story there must be. Even a tragedy deserves to be told.

It was a riot while it lasted.

People never really mean anything they feel.

Unless they shouldn’t.
Or should.
Or can’t.

Lies are constructed to justify actions. I Love You’s are said in vain. I’m Sorry’s are uttered to placate. Someone breaks a promise or a back is stabbed. The whore remains a whore. The truth is still the truth. The villain paints herself the victim. The smoking gun is locked in a secret place. And the lovers ride away into the sunset, like they always always do.

In the songs that are unheard of. Told as stories slipped in hidden books. We are not you, we do not play your childish games. Our world is ours. There is only how we got here. There is what there is because it should. We plead from the divine. We practice poetry in our deeds. The forlorn begs for her chance to dream, in the cheap exhilaration of commonplace praise.

We need not seek to be adored.

Girls with hearts laid on pavements, drawing their dreams in colored chalk. Singing of imaginary lovers and non-existant romances. Skipping skipping prancing, tears in their eyes. Playing on swings reaching for the stars up high.

Never quite close to touching anything but air.