You say you’ve emptied out the [love]
and now there’s none left in your bones—
If that’s the case, why are they warm?
And why do they still feel like home?

I had 
to listen
so
carefully,
to hear
the quiet
words
coming
from your
eyes.

You say I’ve come unglued,
losing one piece then another,
but to fall apart you had to of,
at some point, been together.

My apathy is now unraveled,
though it started with a thread.
I said I wouldn’t let it **** me,
but I had already been dead.

And now these fibers are all knotted,
twisted tightly roundabout
all the windows and the doorways,
where the love was once let out.

I’m sorry
if I
look 
empty,
I only
know 
how to
give 
everything
I have.

we’d [l]eave before the sun,
I’d take y[o]u gently by the hand—
ne[v]er lost, but always wandering,
drifting through lik[e] grains of sand—

The pen inside your mouth writes
words of [love], and of despair—
It glides along so gently,
with its ink that is the air—

But now your words are fading,
and they drift away from here—
I wonder if they’ll reach me
[right] before they disappear—