Whatever it is that you're

looking for, I'm not it.

I am a flower crown made of

black roses and thorns and I am 

pieced together entirely by shreds

and tears and messy stitches

And most days I long to

drown in my sorrows and many

times I have tried to ask

You fix me and every time I have 

ended up biting my tongue.

I know that in the mirror you

only see stains and scars

but the pure white of your flesh

reminds me snow and how

unclean you make me feel.

Melodies of lovers blend like the 

perfect coffee; your voice is slow and

steady while my every word quavers

from the earthquake in my 

brain; time after time you have

tried to calm my nervous heart and

I feel you growing tired because

You no longer touch me

and often times my scared "I love you"'s 

are met with a fracture of a smile

accompanied by an exhausted sigh.

Our flowers are dying and dishes are

breaking and I fear that I

will be next and that, somehow, the

day the pen slips permanently from

my fingers will be the day you are reborn.