Dancing on Eggshells

They always tell us to just say no. Maybe that's why I feel so guilty, lying here in my swirled sheets, knowing what I've done. Knowing I've broken the eggshells I dance upon and regretting ever lifting my feet to dance. Maybe, if the music hadn't been so loud and I hadn't been so drunk off of your pretty words, I could have stood still, balancing docilely. But no, the grass is always greener.

When you shatter eggshells, you remember all the photographs. The ones you took when you were smiling, the ones you took when you were crying. Especially the ones you took with somebody's arms wrapped around you. As soon as the arms grow cold, you forget they were ever even really there.

The telephone's always ringing in your head because the door's always shut and you're trying to accept that there's yolk on your brand new shoes. Why'd you have to give in and sway to the melody? Oh, why..