cuts grazing skins like promises that are not meant to be given or recieved
you can see the torture writing intself to my memory
if you look close enough
sometimes
you can see my skin crying
in every place you managed to forget to touch
suffocating
these are the part of my body that are broken
feel them
how my skin turns shark hard to your fingertips in fear
how my voice shatters in your presence
this is not nervousness
this is survival at its best
there are pieces of stone implanted
into my fingertips from trying to tear down walls
ash in my hair from bridges burned
these are the games we play without hearts
our lungs
beatbox broken
fingertips break dance on the hardwood of our souls
trying to caress something more significant
and what if we come up empty
what if all we ever do here is forget to remember
was it all worth it them?
the cold blood on skin
the dirty fingernails
the broken hearts
if we do not remember any of it
did it really ever happen?
is it actually worth it?
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