You bruised my eyes and I turned pale, taken by surprise that you were the one who crossed my mind.
Though now I know each ritual and trace of skin and bones.
Arching my back to your bitter tone.
But I hope you know this is tender touch, not everyday sludge.
And I'll always sit at the edge of my seat, but don't be ridiculously discreet, I know better than to wait on you.
I desperately wanted to unravel who you seemed to be before you drowned in whatever it is you are now.
But I've come to believe maybe that's all there is at this point.
We're too late.
