your bricks are showing.

You built walls around people without leaving a door,

walls that you never scaled to see if the other side

was still breathing.

Your bricks are showing.

Your blood is still bitter,

your hands are a mess of dried blood that you won't wash

but the skin has healed,
so why don't you clean it off, darling?

But I guess you keep your injuries
so people won't move their eyes.

I checked to make sure oxygen found a way to his lungs,

but found old leaves you never pressed

and paper hearts you didn't value

and photographs you discouraged

lining a fragile spine.

There were bruises and scars from every arm that made it to battle

and I was not the antidote

but I promised him one.

Turn around, your bricks are showing.

Karma made money off of you

for shaking hands with strangers

but never holding his
when they shook as the wind blew.

Quiet, please, your bricks are showing;

your confidence got locked behind the wall you built,

because karma had its round with me

and only came back to you.

Everything is a vision, darling,

and you closed your eyes when the rain picked up,

so you never saw the lightning.

And that's the most beautiful part.

Your bricks are showing.

Your bricks are still showing.

Your bricks were always showing.