If i were to write you all my intentions

behind every miss-taken

If all my lies

were organized

placed inside pages for you to find

The rotten parts of me

drenched in ink

And we need not speak

But run our fingers along the lines

silently mouthing sentences

If I could grasp that pen steady

ready to spill it all on the empty white spaces left behind

If I could be as strong

Would I be reborn in your ayes

Or the same beast sullied

Each cross carries it’s own sting

even if it isn’t weighed within the page

It hurts all the same