Doubt in a blurring memory

Invested so much into this newly found love that I didn’t have enough to save for the crash How did I tell you I loved you when your face still blurs itself into my memory? Worse yet, how could you not say it back? I sold my love for the one that came before you, An architect of skin, he wished to carve me out and etch my soul out of balsa wood, Penetrable and soft, my body was the ancient city of Sardis And he, the cruel Persian army that invaded my walls and filled each crevice of my mind with bloodshed, my only hope being the smoke from the flames not permeate my lungs and be left with chronic self-loathing. We are made up of 75% water, And with every gallon inside me, he flooded in two more, Just to see how much it would take for the gates to overflow. Atlantians chose to disappear beneath the sea, not above the earth, Because they believed the crashing of waves sounded much smoother than the crashing of swords. Your eyes look like home, but when one has been away from oneself for so long, Home can be as blurred a vision as your face; minute details are lost and replaced. I am on my way back, but perhaps you are still lost, It would explain the weariness of your steps. I have been invaded and drowning for so long, kicking and screaming I have forgotten what steadiness feels like and I threw us both over in an attempt to balance us out. Please, believe that some of the balsa wood never even touched the scalpel, And not all of Greece is engulfed in fire. Believe that there are still parts to salvage, skin to cleanse and heart to heal, invest yours in mine and save me from this burning alter to debilitating submissiveness.