I am so aware of the boundaries of my love.
I scratch at the hard paint.

I use my nails up to the skin to see if I can still bleed.
It hurts from my fingers all over
seeping creeping whispering pain

There used to be people. Others thought they were dead and they buried them.
When they woke up they scratched and wailed and cried. What did they feel most, I wonder? The fear? The splinters falling into their skins from the coffin’s lid? The dark?

How could I know?

Everything I did meant I love you

Knowing and not knowing have morphed into two faces of not wanting to know
There are only people who don’t want to know.
I am so aware of the splinters. They bind me into not loving you.
They say there’s a treasure at the foot of every rainbow
rainbows are but long shards of broken light

Everything I did meant I love you

There used to be beliefs. Trees that could unlock the chains of love. And they said that the locks of true love could not be broken, the tree could tell real lovers from others. There can’t be treasures at the foot of Broken.

How could they know?

I pulled at and stretched all the limits so hard they eventually loosened up and I could slip in between them.
We were never safe, but I had won over the borders.
Who’s to say that it wasn’t true?

I am so aware of what we all believe.

Everything I did meant I love you

There used to be castles. Castles to keep the marches safe, to keep the gates closed.
They watched and surveyed and listened, waiting for anyone or anything that would try to force the walls down and invade the quiet of their land.

How could they know?

I never watched, nor surveyed, nor listened
nor waited for the things that seep out from the cracks in the walls.

I did not want to say
 everything I do means : I loved you

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