Broken.

Breathe me in. Like air innocent. My fingers bleed. (I've been writing too much) Prevent these words from searing my battered throat. I can't fucking speak. So I sketch your face. Each line was a cry. (Each curve bore blindness) Preventing my arms from failing. Limitless expressions. To your face I can't conform. But give my hands the chance that I wouldn't have. It was the first time that our words kissed. Our lips didn't even touch, but skin touched skin. The first time in my life that I existed. And each time that our words breathe. We're reborn. We are reborn each time we breathe. EACH. TIME. WE. BREATHE. Each time we breathe. These nights were gaining strength, yet losing ground. A short lived grace. I taste your ways with a pen in my hand. Looking for your bitter haste, your tongue covered in ink. INSECURITIES HAVE GOTTEN THE BEST OF ME. I WAS NEVER STRONG ENOUGH TO HOLD MYSELF UP. YOU WERE ALWAYS A KRUTCH. To hold. To hold. To hold. TO HOLD. TO HOLD. TO HOLD. To hold myself up. You were always a krutch. You were always guiding me through these fringed paper ends. You were always a krutch. Each lasting memory will control each word I write. I used to think that my hands could dance. But now I see my hand's been broken for quite some time. BROKEN.