More than love,
sometimes it is
the fear of being alone.
Because loneliness
creates a haunting echo
of our silence.

Isn't that why
we seek broken things,
and broken men?

So that we
fix instead of break
at least for once.

So that we
leave our signatures
in the loosely filled
cracks and scars.

So that they
cannot recall life
but after we set
their hearts beating again.

So that every time
they take their clothes off,
they can see us
sewed to their skin.

And be proud
to call it ours.

You cannot fix
a person with missing
pieces.

And I have
fallen apart
so
many
times,
the pieces don't even
fit anymore.

To live in
pieces of your remembrance, I
wonder
how tomorrow could
ever follow today.

Empty rooms,
noisier thoughts.

The edges
have begun
to ***** away
at my heart.

And it
bleeds words.