You said we'd get our passports
You said we'd go to Paris
You said we'd live in New York
Your dreams were too big for your skin.

Your broken pieces cut me open
You were built on brittle bones
Your body couldn't hold the world
You loudest, brightest soul

You said that I'd sell millions
of copies of my verses
You had stars inside your irises
though that was nothing new
You eternal flame, burning day,
springtime blooming energy

You hid between the lines
of all that bound you,
tried to will away
those senseless chains
Illusions are so comforting,
reality's so cold.

We'll never get our passports
We'll never go to Paris
We'll never live in New York
You'll never live again.

You're underground inside a coffin
Brittle bones all broken
You tried to hold the world
You starving, reckless soul

Maybe I'll sell millions
of copies of my verses
written from your broken promises
fragments of your shattered eyes
You flickering flame, dying day,
burst of light, my everything

You are trapped between the lines,
confined to words and memories
Now you exist only in
my poems and in my blood.
For all the time I was yours,
you were never truly mine.