I spy with my weatherd eyes
A broken clock that shows me better times from my past life.
As these spiteful tides have turned me
Into a grumpy soul.

This desecrated ship of doubt
It's slowly peeling me away like a potato peeler
I need to grab my papers and maps
To find the breath that I was once searching for.
These scramblings of ramblings
So nonsensical
As they lead me to the fact
That you hate that I bite my nails

Like a hangnail you chew me apart,
Gifting me these splinters from this shovel
That I used as a kid to build mountains of possibilities
Which now leaves me a hole,
To bury my soul with.
Each stone I turn I see these regrets
That look like texts I that shouldn't have sent.

The heavens from above
Have blocked their facebooks
Casting her curses in cursive
Leaving me with my grave,
My shovel,
Memories of you.