keepmesafe

You have a feigned coldness      and a way of looking                    out of your depth. Loving broken things turns you on             more than straight teeth                           ever could. And with the exposure    of every delicate rib                        I lose                              my train                                        of thought...

I've spent my life courting the dark   and you are just one more                      shadow... But somehow you've made a home        under my skin. I've grown accostomed to you,  and that makes me             believe you're beautiful.

We have a whole conversation with just that look in your eyes not a word will pass between us because none need to. I guess this is what it's like to realize that you are broken And the pieces of you Are scattered in his eyes like a million stars. And I can't help but love that. I love it so much I'll never put myself back together. Because your eyes are perfect Just the way they are... Amazing man, how you hypnotize me. With only a moment a universe has passed between us burning my insides cosmic heat on open wounds But I never want it to stop.

I love you for the desolation, the broken moon mornings, the inbetween hours, the light without sun. I love you with the hidden quiet, the caught breaths, the words I'll never say. I love you with the things I can never give anyone else. Because they don't belong to me, and they chose you.

Maybe when it comes to words I'm cursed, with all these beautiful phrases haunting the crowded corners of my brain With no way out. One winged butterflies singed at the edges from all the friction of their bodies rubbing together, and a sluggish tongue cannot help them though it wants to. Clumsily pushing them out of my mouth trying not to crush their fragile bodies but with little success. And so the words left unsaid, the phrases unspoken, choke me or fall from my lips graceless and wanting. How do I acquire eloquence? Build an agile tongue? How do I transform my metal-trap mouth into dew drops and rose petals? Where can I build a voicebox

I have an overbite, and a guilty way of undressing when you're around. Part of me needs to feel that power, and another part of me throws up later thinking about it. I guess deep down I'm still that gap toothed little prude. But maybe, in dark corners, that could change. Maybe I do have a wild side. Maybe I can make people fall for me.    For my body        or my laugh           or my mostly straight teeth... Maybe I'm just hopelessly confused about what it means to be wanted...

You're like Autumn and warm blankets, the smell of fallen leaves, an almost comfortable bite in the air. You're the sweater. The russet evenings, the whisper of something more to come. You are the dream... every waking moment, the steady hand on my back. You are the promise     of kisses     of wishes     of love. You are the joyful and inconvenient wind that makes me lose my page, and my train of thought. You are the memories. You are the adventure. You are the laughter beneath the stars and the entwined fingers. The blushing skin... The brushing skin... The shared breath...

I'm a shipwreak woman, lost in a shallow ocean with jagged edges. My sides are worn down by all the friction of your hands on my waist and all the whales teeth that cut my skin mercilessly as I sink. I will never drown but instead, trudge through the sand at the bottom. Forever moving, in hope that you'll lift me up that you'll blow wind into my sails... that you'll polish my deck... that you'll kiss the bruises away... But I know that you'll let me down because who wants a broken boat when you can have something that sails the high seas? You'll watch me drag the sea floor with Poseidon eyes knowing that you can save me but refusing to.

So this is the dying of youth... The gentle days are misleading Because time rushes by Regardless of soft breezes And the warmth of the sun. And every day When the clock strikes The time I came into this world A silent scream wells up in my throat... One day older And I haven't done enough... One week older... One month older... One year older... It goes on and on As I'm despately trying to cling To the things I love... And the ones I love... Are desperately trying to release themselves From my unrelenting grip. I hold them tighter and tighter because I realize what they do not... That the day is ending slowly and We will have never done en