I think you know what it's like to taste love
on the end of your tongue
like the lingering bitter-sweetness of soft metal.

I think you're older than the number given to you by your age
and heaven's angels have not spared you,
like they sometimes do,
from the acid tears of sorrow the world cries down at night.

I think you love the sun like it will never die
and that you trust that beauty comes in sleepless nights.
You run from friends in life,
yet you trust that that's what it's all about.

I know you're a mess,
and charcoal eyeliner traces the tracks of tears better than lying about
          fake incidents.
Please let someone hold you this time around.
It's only ever lonely if you find your feet on solid ground,
and the sins of the wind are the only ones to share the stability with.