Thorns take the places of roses and I can’t stop gripping the stems.

Ripping, pulling flowers from their rooted places.

If I can’t find a place to lay low, then neither can they.

Sooner or later this place becomes fruitless and barren.

People first become objects, then nothing.

I remember singing songs along this path.

Charming those who would bend an ear to listen.

But that charisma runs out quick and we’re left with a mess.

When we take to our places in the cycle, my switch blade of a heart will do the rest.

It’ll leave you bleeding at the intersection of no one and nothing.

I used to think my over-analytical head was the issue.

But it’s my heart that craves its own undoing.

Seeking the quickest way out of my chest.

I fear to become the best so I’ll settle for second to all the rest.

My heart begs for more, spending what energy it has left.

The cost isn’t worth the price given.

Time is the most important currency we let go of.

Weaving its way out of our souls, escaping the weak grasps of our thoughtless hands.

I’m a helpless commodity to those who choose to stay and waste away with me.

So waste away with me under these sheets, let my body speak what’s so wrong with me.

Let my hands reveal my worries across your surface.

Stay quiet beyond your breath, my head is crowded enough.

I alone am powerless.

Where do I draw the line between intimacy and skin?

I keep searching for love and ending up with flesh.

I’ve been trying to turn depression into suppression for this longing.

All it has led to is my separation.

I’m in free-fall, hoping to be caught before making contact.

This struggle is bigger than me; I need to let go of control

And trust that you’ll catch me.

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