undo the rusty bolts
underlining
  my frizzy hairline
the crummy ones that hold
  volatile turmoil
    within my scalp
the erratic lunacy
  playing
   with my aging brain
using the untangled strings
  to jump rope
   and play
    sorrowful tunes
      for the weeping
        to harmonize

i want you
  to stick your hands
   in my heavy head
as you would
  in a flower ***
    freshly filled with soil
dig into the moist compound
  with your pliable fingers
   amend
     the corruptive leakage
       that toils
         within my own deceit

i want you
  to avidly turn
    the soft claying matter
       how ever you please
as you would
  turn into roads
     that lead you
        running
           straight to me

i want you
  to breathe
     igniting hope
born from the fumes
   of cigarettes
    you smoked insensibly
into the seeds
  you wish to discard
     in this potted cavity

i want you
  to pour oceans
    of poetic sentiments
tainted with gentle kindness
   from those isolated tears
     held back in the sockets
        of your eyes
to water
   my wilting corpse
     so it may flourish
        from your light reflecting gift
          of life (you resurrect me)

i want you
  to trust
     in your
       captivating presence
          to make me
              unintentionally smile
from your caress
  will selflessly sprout
     inflorescent buds
       of rich purplish-blue flowers
          with conspicuous green calyxes

  and even though their coloring
        is rather insignificant
  and they can be easily overlooked

i want you
  to know
   that only you
     hold the key
       to this secret pasture

that
  without you
   there would not be
     such garden
         for us to hide

He might still think about you each night
That reminds him of the ones you used to share.
He probably is just too scared,
To tell you he still cares.
Even in the first place,
He never once said
"I care about you".
That doesn't mean he never felt it,
And it doesn't mean he ever stopped
Loving the way you laughed,
Joked around with his friends,
And held his hand too tight.
He probably still wants to wrap his arms around you
And take you to the movie theater.
He still thinks about the way you made him feel.
That you made him feel at all.
He's still there,
He's just scared that you're not.

Touch me the way you touch books - lightly skimming your fingertips over the spine, opening the pages, gently leafing through them, using your fingers pointing to each word, and just memorising the way the parchment feels against your skin.

Hold me the way you do with an old fragile book, or a new book that you're afraid of damaging - gently holding the spine, afraid of opening me too wide and hurting me, taking in it's musky scent, and studying every word, committing it to memory.

But don't end me the way you do with books - putting it down gently, only picking it up to reread occasionally, and leaving it on the shelf to collect dust on it's cover.

Keep me by your side, like a diary, and write in me, telling me your truest feelings, terrified of losing me, for fear that others would uncover your darkest troubles.

Keep me by your side and always read me, read through your past entries, treasure me, and place all your trust in me - I'll never disappear, your memories, happiness, sorrow will always remain with me, and you will never have to worry about forgetting anything. You will always have me by your side.

But when the pages are filled up, don't stop - add in new pages, like you can with any diary. But I doubt I will ever be filled up because I've enough pages to last you a lifetime without any worries of me ending.

You want to find me at my worst?
Go back a few years, and find a fifteen-year-old nothing
With infinite depression and thoughts stuck on repeat,
playing the same suicide song over and over
As you watch her slowly transform her legs to scar tissue
Please tell her you've noticed she's not eating

You want to see me at my lowest?
Watch me lap up the blood after bathing in blades
When you search for the places that my mind visits so frequently
It will truly test a flexibility
that not everyone has

You want to know me at my core?
No, you don't
Curiosity is not the same as desire and
the darkness would only blind you
I'm too sweet to show you the type of insanity
most would cringe in disgust at
And honestly, at the end of the day, all I'm left with are notebooks and razors

You have seeped into my veins
An intravenous drip of affection
Conjured into this darkness and
Coursing through my bloodstream.

My valves twitch obediently;
There is nothing natural about this affair
Where you rest your tired head on
The wells of my body.
My collarbones greet you with great
Uncertainty