The Voices In My Head
What part of this did I not get? Demand the voices in my head. That you were not broken, yet I was bent on being the one to fix you? That your marble lips weren't carved from uncaring silence, but that they only spoke for her. Your carefully constructed stone fingers caressed my body, but achingly so. What electrified me did nothing to bring your void form to life. What took my breath away did nothing to fill your empty lungs. You, always looking over your shoulder for someone I could not see. I was not your Michelangelo, David. Not the fire haired sculptor who placed the spark of life into your calloused heart. Not she who placed a soul inside your ancient eyes. I know now that you were not created of me or for me, and that you were never mine to save. I am but a two bit potter who should have known that I could not shape marble, with hands so used to clay.