You found me stuck staring at rearview mirror reflections of wintry, dusk intersections of everything leaving me all at once. A forced exhale of asphyxia caged in collapsing lungs; my mouth, a fountain spring, that coughed out pools of blood.
I wish I saw myself the way you saw me; not a red traffic light wounding speeding cars on winding streets, but an antique heirloom priceless enough you'd only wish you could keep in a heart-shaped box you saw in dreams.
But, I'd cut my tongue, paint my lips cherry shades to blend with cells that'd stain handkerchiefs you'd offer. Make you believe this isn't going to foster because you are indecision, unfinished watercolor landscapes of summer forest fire skies, a sun-kissed Pacific wanderer. And I am true crime untouched evidence of break-ins, remains of faulty locks and lights. I am mosaics misaligned; static, seabed cracks from forgotten fault lines. Gaping fissures of sand, and salt that won't let me stitch frayed skin-deep fibres barely holding me in.
Oceans would have to empty themselves into whirring cyclones and high tides for our selfish sense of touch to collide. Ice caps would have to sink deep enough to even bruise my skin. And I wouldn't want to watch more Shakespeare end before it begins.
See, I am the one with sharp edges, but why did you have to be the one to clip my wings?
There is only an abyss without a trampoline, a safety net, a bed of waterlilies, I could fall in. And I am so tired of paradoxes and ironies; of always being wanted by someone who doesn't even want to be kept, of always being mended and then left with more dislocations, and fractures, one after another each taking longer to fix.
Now, in shapeless parcels, without return addresses sent out into the void these words will echo of love I never intended to borrow, and shadows of false hope you never thought yourself capable of giving away.