we have too many secret under our skin
leaving no oxygen for our blood to breathe
and it all seems so trivial
these butterflies that have been left from him
dying on my bedroom floor
to you
its all so black and white
to me
everything grey
im monotone
cracking in your uncertainty
his ability to break you in silence
in the negative space
it feel like glass under my skin
but its just secrets
you see
there is nothing there but wind
and you can feel it across the island
i can see it in your eyes
you nightmare of him with someone else
like i do of you with him
these secrets
i feel them in my bones
marrow deep
like leukemia
building in my weakness
i can taste the death coming on my tongue
like the butterflies you still feel for someone else
they are dying on my bedroom floor
tonight i will carry to the window
watch them fly or fall
wondering
which way we will follow
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