Tell me I will be okay

My fingers are marred with scars and cursed with the arthritis i gained as a reward for my petty attempt to keep a tight grip on the beautiful lies you told me.

My crooked bones crack and curl around what is left of our love, the paint chips from your nail polish that you left in bed that night were more than enough to fill my appetite for lonliness.

If your voice could reach my ears one last time would you tell me that I'll be okay? Or would you spread your wings made of my tears and drown me in the endless abyss that is our memories?

Would you put my head to your chest and let your slow beating heart play the symphony of what could have been in our world of make-believe? Or would you smile at me and let the sound of the early morning rain speak for you?

For now I'll hold you close, and keep you warm as we listen to the sound of the rain and impending sirens.