Saddest Landscape Torn Broken Beautiful
We kiss like we have razors in our mouths. Our love notes
are eulogies. We simply mark graves and call them home.
We have all the souvenirs of our failed lives. We are
torn, broken, and beautiful. We pray for memory lapses,
the strength to forgive and forget while we are speaking
in absolutes, but still nothing has changed: and we are
another young heart that beat too fast, too soon. (Do you
regret anything?) We mapped it out, how this all should
end, what song would be playing when we breathed our last
breath. We will tell people our love died for our sins,
knowing full well that we lived these lives. No one can
take that from us. No matter what is said, we know that
we truly lived.
