I meticulously pick the cracked and peeling finger nail polish from my fingers.
Staring down.
Focusing on anything but your eyes.
The beating of your heart is like a metronome, setting the rhythm of the room.
You've whispered me your secrets, fallen in love with my evasive glances, blotted out my smudges and redecorated them in your mind.
To you, I am a thrift store find, but a treasure nonetheless.
I put my head against your machine of a chest,
My lips mouth the empty words I wish I could make true.
My hungry soul is a picky starving child.
I greedily collect hearts in my hands and groan as they get heavy,  afraid to give them back.
Yours is the freshest.
It is I who is weathering your heart.
With my silence.
With my tears.
With my selfishly stolen kisses.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.
"you're beautiful, you have cute feet, and I love you."
As you slip a delicate silver shackle around my neck.
The tiny silver heart dangles above my own.
I want to tell you to run away, but my own fear of loneliness paralyzes my tongue.