maybe it's the way that we don't touch that makes your words seem far more real,

spilling our secrets out into the sky.

i want these well-armed words to crush the wheezing wind out from your ribs.

utter it all into the blank space.

fall away or fall back into my head.

the struggle back to breathe the right way is the slow sinning struggle back to the sun.

my yesterdays are holding candles to my tomorrows.

when i put down my carried torches on the carpets beneath our feet i will watch it burn and survive you all.

fall away or fall back into my head.