To Get Him.

Butterflies weep crystals across the sunset.

I stand on a ledge, divide within myself.

I would be a death to hang around

when all I have felt has been down.

You are so far from my hands,

so much further for me to understand.

Am I looking at invisible walls,

wondering how they will fall,

or am I standing further behind

than you claim to let me in?

Fear shakes me down to my genetics,

and panic makes my feet run, a selfish tactic.

Break me down and see me for who I am,

colors of empty embers, a lost lamb.

What do I even have left?

What do I even have left?

Author's Note

07.05.2014