a song who writes me

we never wrote him a song
a song we conceive when he was broken, while his pieces were sharp in each shatters
lyrics that once silently numbed his maladies
melodies that played in our shoulder when he secretly sobs
they're pretty, morbid love like

now he returns intact,
breathing that song we never wrote

it is obscure
of what cause all these soreness in our psyche
the dripping crimson like beats
was it the reminiscence of his once a shattered being
or was it the song he's breathing?

it was our song not his
but we may have pack the tunes in his lunch box before he went away
now he returns intact

the song is ours but never us