April 11th

I will tear down the stars from the sky and break them into a thousand pieces,

one for you, and 999 for each sour nothing that you whispered into my ear.

I wish that I some point I could have shut it out, refused to hear,

But now everything you've ever done,

Every lie you've ever spun,

is carved so deep inside me that my bones are bare and my skull could crack from the weight of it.

I will write secretly fake secrets,

fold them into paper boats,

full of little paper sins and little paper men.

I will float them out on the ocean until the ink runs into other languages.

Even the appearance of impropriety,

and I would tear my own flesh from my bones,

just so you could see that everything you told me is still locked in my heart

and even though my heart has rusted into a busted comapss,

pointing me everywhere but right,

at least if I can keep your secrets,

I'll always be able to sleep at night.