Draw me into a poem and paint in all the dents the world has left within me.
Feeling your hands on my skin, caressing the inside of my thighs, moving up
Has me questioning how the roughness of the world hasn't corrupted such soft hands
Your eyes linger on my chest, and it feels like your gaze burns through me, seeing a glimpse of all the ache I feel
You run your hands through my hair, and your expression becomes much softer, as if holding a precious gem and being so afraid of scratching or dropping it  
You whisper in my ear how you want to protect me at all cost and how the world does not deserve me
How I'm so pure and unscathed by life's many hardships
You promise to wrap your arms around me every night,
When we're lying on our crisp, white bed sheets
Reminding me how much the world is lucky to have an angel walk among them
Yet, I can't help but feel like I put up a front of being something I'm not.
I am nothing
My heart is stained black.
My thoughts are usually clouded
If i could describe them as a season, it would be fall,
Because they're always causing me to breakdown Into pieces
I am soiled with pure hate.
The rage fills me and all the love dissolves
If the world hasn't worked you into roughness, maybe my soul will
I think it would be better for you to leave.
But maybe you see the potential of what I can become,
Gentle, soft
Adoring
Something so much more, than I already am
My eyes follow yours and we lose ourselves in the moment, putting aside all of our do's and don't's,
Forgetting that love never plays fair,
And soon, one of us is bound to get hurt.