With these cuts on our hands
We let the strings slip through our wet palms
We stand in broken circles and watch as they become like masquerades.
We mask the days
We’re empty hollow shells deflecting pain.
With your weathered hands you draw me in Always pretending
it was never our choice to make
Hollow tongues
We take our words
And open lungs
And pretend how much it doesn’t hurt.
With these cuts on our hands
We let the strings slip through our wet palms
With these stitches we’ll try and we’ll try to bridge these again.
With these thoughts of mine, these cuts on our throat, we chase the pain away.
We stand in broken circles