Shaving layers off my bones to find new methods of explanation, new outlets for escape. This isn’t about understanding anymore, it’s about saving your face- you keep diving into the fires I struggle to control where you’re just another thing to burn, an eventual ember dying in cold grass when I’ve collapsed, half dead from holding the edges together. Every warning in the world’s bounced off your skull and when you’re cinders, I’m the monster. I should’ve let it happen, should’ve painted my face with your ashes, worn your bones as warning for the inevitable next round, the next wave in this apparent ocean of suicidal souls who need the hurt to feel alive. Now your guilt’s got me sitting here shaving my lead down, ten ton skeleton being broken into pieces you maybe stand a chance of keeping because somehow this is what being human means.