By Claire Burianek
Are you my saving grace?
Or are we mere passerbys,
a quick encounter
on a mirrored midnight street?
Are you my saving grace?
Or are you my downfall,
waiting for me
to let my guard slip
so you can infiltrate my soul?
Are you my saving grace?
Or am I meant
for someone better,
some celestial being?
Are you my saving grace?
Or are we destined
to shatter each other
and our porcelain hearts?
Are you my saving grace?
Or are we never allowed contentment,
cured by gods above
to exist in misery?
Are you my saving grace?
Or have I climbed this mountain
in search of you for naught?
Are you my saving grace?