B R E A T H E

p l o p

everything is falling apart
not that it was ever complete
it's all on me

i picked pieces of our broken home
to make a castle
with bleeding hands

i forgot the core was rotten
the roots were fragile
aged with misery

now its too late
the bugs have weakened the frame
and it's all crumbling to the ground

plop. plop. plop.

the sky above us, ever so bright
remains unchanged
it makes my eyes hurt

it is peaking at us, teasing us
from the cracks of the willow tree

i pick up a rock and hit the bough
as the clouds wink
the leaves fall with silent cries
like falling angels with burning wings

i step on every last one of them
and grin as the wailing crunch
reaches my ears

at last
i am not the only one
who is ruined