Quiet Love

It's a quiet sort of love,

The one where the stars are black

And the sun is dark,

The one where the ocean shrinks,

The one where music sounds like it did when you were sad,

The love that holds you

But you can not feel it moving,

And it is,

But you only notice when it's gone.

And then you remember that it hurt.

And when you think about it,

your whole heart breaks,

And the stars lead you nowhere,

Until you're on your knees in the dark,

Singing songs that write themselves

And cling to your lips

The way that tears sometimes do.

It's a love that you were born with,

And you will die with it too,

No matter how much you try to forget.

No matter how much you do forget.

You hide behind a smile,

But it feels painted on your skin,

And you become an artist

every morning,

Making masks,

Moulding them to your bones,

Until every day you are a doll,

Paying the part you wrote yourself,

Or maybe you did it in a dream,

Being pulled by the strings that

At night wrap tight around you,

And they crush you until your body

Crumbles into a million pieces

Under the night sky.

And when morning comes,

You put each piece back in place,

Unravel the strings from around you,

And again you are an artist,

Who in another life would be praised

For what you do.

It's a quiet love,

A love only you can hear,

But it whispers in your mind every

Minute of every day,

Until to you it sounds like screaming,

And you're ears bleed

From the wretched sound of it,

And nobody wipes the blood or tears

From you,

Because dolls can't cry, or even hear,

So how would they see you fall apart?

It's a quiet love.

A quiet love.

No ones else can hear it,

No one else can feel it,

Even now, to me, it's only

There in memories,

Or moments when I'm silent,

Maybe sometimes dreaming,

And the memories become real to me,

And I break

All over

Again.