On the backs of our hands are the scars from yesterday, born and quiet from the lives we’ve led. Like birds dancing in stale breath, we were colors running through the blank pages of a forgotten story. I’ve been talking in my sleep to dreams about you that have left me capsized at full anchor; waking up is always the same. We’re caught up in a fraction of half-truths, standing in space only waiting for the stars to burn out. My legs are in stone and my knuckles are bloody. All these sunken ships have a broken story. “Let’s go down like the ships lost at sea,” but this sinking ship is drowning out obituaries. Remember our fingers on the lips of this city. Balancing our heads on a string of hearts, burying our sins in the dirt for one last night. Remember throwing bottles in the lukewarm sky just to see them fall. We always thought we would never fall, but now we’ve become ghosts—falling in and out of floorboards and vacant sheets. Spirits in the dark left waiting. We will always be waiting for our chance to illuminate. We all want to be discovered under the lost sea.