Slow moving mouths and a hesitant smile with cement on your hands, and bricks in a pile. And if this home could ever mend, our twisted spines could never bend because we have grown in all the wrong directions, raised our children in the worst of intersections, and I will not forget let alone forgive. I died with our marriage, I'm just trying to live. Every breath that you drew I tried my best to erase, and every hope that you had I did my best to replace. I'm just the skin of my former self, just a layer of how I felt. Remember when I thought your fingers entwined with mine was the strongest bond? A knot never to be untied. But how we frayed, and how we tore, my gentle voice has turned so hoarse from being so dramatic.