the death of my beautiful bones.

My bones told me I was different.

They said, "stop. just stop trying to be like everyone else. it's never going to happen."

It was like when I told perfection to go die, because it's not real.

But my bones told me they were beautiful.

And that while I had been searching for God,
He saw my bones and smiled.

The day I was sexually abused (and by days I really mean two years), my five-year-old bones cried and said that things would never be the same.

They said the scar he left hurt them, and it wasn't ever going to go away.

And God looked at his bones, and my bones.

He made it rain in my soul and got my bones all wet, and I fell in love.

With the silence of beauty and the beauty of silence.

And God let me live.

My bones, the ones deep inside my soul...they told me to love you. and love you. and never stop loving you.

But my bones are shaking in the cold love you gave me.

And the coffee and blood...they don't help.

My bones told me how much it hurt when you carved in your name.

My bones said to paint the sky red.

Red with the pain that you sold me, and it wasn't cheap either.

They told me I'd always be alone, and I guess I was okay with that.
It was easier you know...

But my bones still loved you.

The sound of your secrets and how your fingertips wiped the tears from my heart.

They said being in the dark was supposed to scare me, but all I did was close my eyes and breathe in the moon.

They told me my heart would be okay.

But my bones still bled your name in my dreams.

They told me that sunsets at midnight were real, and so was my heartbeat.

But my bones still bled your name while I slept.

"Keep dreaming, and breathing, and loving", they'd sing.

And my bones,they tried to make death real.

Tried to break and burn and bleed so I'd know what it felt like...

But they told me that I could never make dying beautiful.