There is something
about your
fleeting fingertips
and the way
your mouth curls
resembling
how i
curl myself around
you

and your hands that
Are full
of doubt and
apathetically
****** dreams

There's something
about the way
Your smile
makes me feel

And the
way you hold
your cigarettes
to your lips
that reminds me
of how
you
sometimes
hold
    me.

With you,
I feel like my brokeness wears a disguised mask,
it doesn’t protrude out like splinters and spears
right through my rib cage where
thorn ladden tendrils grow, with everyone else.

With you,
I feel less broken.
Maybe even whole again.
Like I used to be.

As the world of your dreams lays shattered on the floor
Will you dig its grave into my broken heart?
So that our broken, imperfect pieces,
*Will never be far apart