Even though I had an open wound blood draining from my chest I was never asked if I was going to be okay continuously let each of your flaws cut into my skin crawling deep within my brittle weakness, you even when there was nothing left of me to attach into your twines always managed to tangle myself in the middle of your moral twisting storm I was the shelter in the mess we always found ourselves in the months pass and coat us with thick layers of consistency your lies distort themselves like fickle tattoos deep within the many sheets I called your body and with a swift trace of our life lines on stripped backbones quick to reassure you with quite kisses that everything is as is twisting my spine bringing me to your level always conformed to our own woven haven or hell