Pry it open with your love.

In my hands,

My dreams--

Scattered like ashes

you put in the mt dew can,

Maybe I got more than I bargained for.

Will I ever be enough?

The weight of them

My insecurities--

heavier than they've ever been.

What are we doing here?

Playing house...

The weight of love

doesn't feel heavy enough,

In my hands, Im most

fearful of empty,

I long for weight, something substantial,

like the cup that holds my morning coffee.

What are we doing here?

It feels like a slow death.

Someone...

Help me.

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