You fell in love with your
pain that you can't tell the difference between agony and affection
That you can't turn off
the voices of doubt in your head, you carry them in the space that should carry
my heart with the same hands that should pat me to serenity
You have made music from
every echo of misfortune that all your limbs fluently bend to the tunes of calamity
You have become so trapped
in your tales of failure that you despise the reality of how you have won my
heart
Have become so accustomed
to defeat that you spit venom at the idea of victory and flee from the sounds
of happiness
You have confined yourself
in the yesterday's fall
and have become sightless to
the love I spatter you with every Sunday morning