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