wasted hands we tear ourselves apart
telling stories our tongues cannot control
with rosy red cheeks, we smile and lose all feeling
lay down and die to the lives we can’t be living

our eyes are opened for the first time in ages
and grabbing daffodils we let our arms rise from our bodies
we’ll flood this land, waist high in freedom
and alive, growing hearts on trees we’ll multiply

heavy legs all crumbling on the scene
this is not the dream of love we had
but picking wounds, blood on our chests
we dig up the graves of our once dead bodies

pick up our bones, and live another day

-wrote that last night as i went to sleep.. huh.