I found you in the drawer of my dresser with lavender stalks and pills without pleasure You found me in your cigarette's ember that helps you forget when you body remembers me The irony in recovery is that we are one another's safety and the reason we hate me I can't heal from you without your help My broken parts are pieces of your shell I found you in the cold-watered bathtub You found me in my car with the pipe plugged The irony in recovery is that we are one another's safety and the reason we hate me We bled out all our innocence to color our roses to color the moments to color us in When I get there will you open the door I'm finding out what we were bleeding for I forgive you for the things that I know you know you might always do But I bet flowers grow at your feet wherever it is that you are living now and I'm so glad.