I always come back to your arms darling
When I most need something to help me stay afloat
I wish I could reach out and hold your face close to my chest
I always find myself looking for museums in people
Something beautiful to watch, something to reiterate my pain to
But I have only ever seen these kinds of wounds inside your notebooks
I could never speak of them
I walked down the stairs of the most beautiful gardens
But after beauty came out of her shells to celebrate my triumph
I went after the martyrdom
My last stop sign on my way to hell was you
And why was I dragging myself down to hell?
Nobody will ever know
You have a way of painting the cracks all over my heart golden
Maybe that’s why I love running back to you
Through the fields of daisies and lilies in my back garden,
I have only ever recognised your nectar as my favourite
No one will have my heart on their silver platter but you