that when you love someone,
You love them with everything

You love them with their hurt

You love them with their scars

You love them with their tears,
and you love with all your heart

I think I may have found that,

Slightly broken and well-worn

But what's love without its hiccups,
most disease can be cured

But I'm still waiting for that someone,

to see me as I am

I'm waiting for that someone

to be here and now

You love someone with everything

Scars, tears, and hurt

They will love you in return
with your scars tears and hurt

And they will love you beyond their own pain

And I'm waiting.

I've got my heart right here,
I've got my scars right here

Are you out there?
That perfect someone.
Taller than 5 feet
With your disheveled hair
And your imperfect good looks.
I don't mean you pretty boys
I want the beautiful ones
With all the flaws.
Inside and Out.
I love your flaws
Will you love mine?
Do you feel pain
do you embrace it
and let it wrap around you with familiarity?
Are you open or listen to good music?
An avid country music hater.
You are out there
Perfectly Imperfect Boy.
Where are you?
Because I have yet to find you.
So you can kiss me unexpectantly
and make me laugh.
So you can break my walls
Piece by piece
Till I am nothing left but myself.
Come rescue me
On your black horse
In anyway you desire.

I look at you and I smile.
You look at me and you smile.
It makes me happy.
It pushes me to believe in us
More and More each day.
But I look behind me
and I see Her.
Always Her.
Not Me.
I see you in the hallways
Waving someone over.
I take a step and something zooms by.
And it's Her.
Always Her.
Not Me.
Your broken heart cannot heal
without something
And it's Me.
Always Me.
Not Her.
When you are ready to love again
It's Her.
When you love with all you heart
It's Her.
But when you are hurt and heartbroken
Looking for a shoulder to cry upon.
When you look for something to use
time and time again
Only to throw away like nothing
time and time again
Why can't it be Her?
I think it might be Me you love-
But it's her.
Not me.
Always Her.
Not.
Me.

I can taste the licks of flame in my mind,
Just barely; I cry. The sour flavour corrodes
My tongue, telling me I can't continue
To suffer the wrath. The scent kills me,
And I continue to defy what is constantly
Whispered in my fragile ears.
The sound of the bitter cackling of demons
Burns the wings of butterflies that inhabited
My entire body. The smoke from the charred,
Powder-white wings of moths,
Parasites, kiss the scares and open them again.
The desire to feel the pain consumes the spindly legs
Of butterflies trying to escape, nearly dead
By fire caused by my own hands.
My fingers shake, I am cold.
But my messages are not clear anymore.
I am no butterfly on fire.
They are all dead.

I laid in my bed, staring out my broken screen window,
And I thought of you.
The stars in the sky remind me of your mind,
An endless galaxy of thought and memory.
I dreamed with open eyes that you laid next to me,
Whispering small things in my ear
And gently tracing the scars on my arm.
The small blisters covering my skin
Throbbing and sensitive under your calloused fingers.
We could talk about the little things that make life great,
Or you could kiss me senseless.

These hopes and thoughts repeat every night.
The imagery and technicolor thoughts leave shivers
Running through my entire body. I know you dream of this, too.