It was the innermost piece

That I could never quite reach. 

My fingers brushed the jagged edge, 

But I couldn’t gather what you said. 

It was like you had flowers in your mouth,

And thoughts you couldn’t say out loud. 

And from our place on the basement floor, 

We can’t understand what’s beyond the door, 

But we can see the cracks in the ceiling, 

And they look like our wounds still healing. 

We lay on this cold floor like broken dolls, 

Condemned to the prison of these walls. 

 You exist in my mind differently

Than the injured boy beside me. 

We’re rotting from the inside out, 

But you wear your wounds like a crown. 

You touch my broken and bruised fingers, 

And for a moment the feeling lingers.

You contain the mystique of a music box, 

I just couldn’t get you to unlock, 

But in the night, you become a symphony.

I reach through spiderwebs spun so intricately, 

With nothing between us, you unwrap the lace, 

And everything falls like rain into place.