Poetry archive from the mental hospital

for mia

When my vessel gives in and releases it's soul,
her laugh will be the epitaph of the grave.
When the puzzle of her life is lifted and crumbles, I will catch her pieces.

The chrome windows in her face will weep for what's yet to come
and I will match the outfit of her tears.
Dressed in empathy and adoration

Her and I will spiral.
First, around each other.
Then, around the world.