some nights I stay up way passed the time you fall asleep just to listen to whether you'll scream to get out of a hidden reality of if you'll moan fighting to stay in one.
some nights I'll be kissing down your chest, no matter how content you'll look, my hands still manage to tremble down porcelain skin like the first night I ever touched you. glancing up because you're a horrible liar with the most stunning eyes and unwelcome hands are nothing more nothing less they are unwelcome and to think my hands could do more harm than good and I could not even know it.
you are art work. you are a story.
everyone near you is always eager to know more, dig deeper, find out what pushes and pulses through your veins
curiousity didn't **** the cat, a greedy society killed the cat.
always begging to know more, thinking there's entitlement and deserving throughout their blood like what is yours is theirs for the taking.
I want to walk in the sun with you
I want to kiss each of your fingers over and over
I want to remain what you want but I know how unwanting makes you rain guilty, I will run before I become another bullet point on why you keep screaming