He's the type of boy you see in the hallways
with a cigarette dangling from his lips
though smoking isn't allowed on school property.
If you look over his shoulder and see his sloppy handwriting making up notes for English class
the only words repeated
would be something along the lines of
the afterlife.
I promise that if you look at his veins and if you bother to realize that they climb his hands like trees
you'd notice that all the deoxygenated blood has yet to care.
If you walk past him in the hallway
and you see him leaning against a wall
say 'hi',
not because he's broken and he needs your fixing
but because it might be fascinating to know someone as twisted as you
so why walk by the boy that smells of death and cigarettes
and not attempt to be friends with him
when you know his mind is just another dark variation of the rabbit hole.
You see, you could fall in love with him,
but really, would it be any different from falling in love with yourself?
You sit in math writing dark poems, attempting to make something physical out of the acting in your heart
but does it even matter.
He's doing the same thing in science class
except maybe his are a little more twisted than yours
and maybe that's what makes you jealous
perhaps he's dipped his fingers into the bowl of life
and you've dipped yours into the fountain of death
but morbidity seems to ache for him in a way that will never yearn for you
and maybe it's silly
to romanticize these thoughts
but darling, I can't seem to picture blood running down a knife
and not bring a sort of sweet satisfaction from it
and maybe I'm twisted
perhaps my mind is not a place for the faint hearted
but my love, who ever said I was strong