So now these heightened whispers are what you use to define you.
If the non-entity disease filled you up so easily,
I won't be the one to define you.

Did you spill your bile on the pavement?
Were you waiting for fallen skies to soak it up for you?
And all these tattered days and the gray rocks with broken things to say.

And learning there was so more heart to hold in,
your rib cage has evacuated.
Leaving you ruined and bitter.
But they'll be back in time for winter,
cause then it's always warmer.

You expect me to fly to you on broken wings.

So cry these previews of frailty and let it leave.
Realize you won't receive apology and let it leave,
just let me leave.