My skin is a graveyard of all inked papers that writes about life With every line, a bottle falls and breaks, leaving the papers as blank as they were. An ocean of lies spills through its ink and every drop of it leaves an indelible stain. A stain that looks so blue but feels so red Exhibiting a sight of burnt skin and dull hues. My heart is a graveyard of all the friends that I've lost over the years. It is the cemetery of friendships that died during the wars of loyalty. It is a home to all the pictures that I've burnt amidst my breakdowns and a place where all the letters that held regards were severely torn. My brain is a graveyard of all the broken promises that only heaps up with my swollen miseries. My neurons carry the chunk of regrets that often only travels to my heart. Every lie dissolves with my blood and manipulates my ability to think and retrieve, On to a path better than grief. My bones are a graveyard of all the cracked relations that hides within the crevices of my muscles. With every step, a spasm of guilt travels through me, and I fall down over my feeble bonds. They crumble and buries at the brink of my clarity and I watch them fading into their own insanity. My body is a graveyard of all the fable tales that I grew up listening to. Of lovers that died in each other's arms and sons that cried over their father's remains. Stories of sunken ships lies short my sleeves folding inwards into tragic beliefs. There lies mud all around me, it sticks at every last one of my pore and seizes a sensation of grief within me. I lay heavy over all the graves that speaks to me, phrases of forgiveness Yet somehow stays unaware of trust and empathy.