Our Graves

You hung to my every word trying to derive meaning out of each vowel and consonant

As if my feelings were constant

but they sway back in forth between unrest and silence

so quiet

you try to trace the words as they roll off my tongue but nothing comes of it

You kept me sharing though each of your seconds translated to another minute of my guilt

searing the depths of my heart raising blisters filled with lost tears on my lungs like

they never found worthy eyes to fall from

but you listened as my every breath poured my story out

Then my head began to throb and my cry for help made your ears go numb

You try to listen but by engaging my demons you bought them like

the fine china you broke in the store and can’t part from

The metaphor ends there because you can’t share my secrets

though they were harvested by your hands but life isn’t china’s communism

You embraced me with hands that never physically came near me

Fearing the broken piece of glass in my grasp would shred your genuine concern

But you’re left dodging shards as they pierce my heart and it’s permanent

only my skin would bare the signs of the sharp end of it.

My skin is scarred and hands calloused from digging my own grave

If only my grip would just slip from the ledge of guilt I cling to

But my insecurities are a noose around my neck and there’s no where to escape to

Now I’m left hanging by the ledge over the same grave that I dug for you.

Because once you’re involved you can’t back out and

before I could warn you, you stuck your neck out and

fell victim to the silent words that I said

and now we’re hanging side by side over two graves

swinging back

and forth

I wish I was here

as if we were already dead.