at sixes and sevens

you have my heart

you don't know it

so i weep 

and pace the wooden floors 

pick at my scabs until they bleed 

sink my fingers into my bruises

weren't you suppose to know 

wasn't this all suppose to be beautiful 

weren't the small moments supposed to be fuller 

now i will die before i tell the truth 

i can't unwrite my fate

i'll dissolve without the guiding hands of someone who knows better 

it's all so untidy