Pieces of me are falling everywhere. They’re loosely hanging from your teeth and the sharp edges tempt you into bleeding. We all know I would never let that happen- I just like to cast a shadow to see if you could swim in the dark. It’s ornate. It’s eery. It’s drenched in icey veins that don’t really need the blood they pump. If I’m the sinner and you’re the saint the who will be the first to reach for the halos? I mean, even artists mourn the the beauty they create because once the open wound is thrown on a black canvas, a piece of them is exposed for the world to see. Own. Criticize. Manifest. Feed. I have no room left around my bones to carry such a response. The taking in saving and giving. It comes back to the palms of my aching hands every fucking time. So if you see me stumbling over myself please ignore the chaos. Put it rest in your mind with the rest of me that needs to rest for a moment. Pieces of me are falling everywhere. -AMT