THEY make you feel special- and then leave as if you were nothing more than a bag of trash. THEY tear you down without even knowing it- slowly chipping away the pieces most prized to you. THEY sink you to the bottom- and only then do they leave so you’re left drowning; watching them float back up; wondering how they manage to be completely fine after wrecking your life. THEY lie and steal- parts of your heart and carry it with them as trophies of all the people they’ve hurt. THEY make empty promises- they seem solid, but in reality are nothing more than hot air. THEY are the **** of the earth- and they reel you, offering you the world knowing that’s exactly what they’re going to strip from you...
how odd even quaint you, the paint chip that i press against the wall and have pressed against the wall (and maybe will press against the wall but hopefully not but probably but hopefully not but probably) and i would like very much for you to stay pressed holding to that perfect bit of open space so shaped to you and your edges
but instead you lean outwards peering not want to wear uniformity and so you will and so how bravely that you, the paint chip stand out so caught in glory that you don't see i could make a bag of they, the paint chips that you don't see i'll just strip the whole wall and layer it fresh with paint that doesn't talk back
In every thought in every laugh and every subtle joke with every step I take in the morning when I wake when I turn the key of my home when I pick up my phone hoping it's you and I feel a tiny gleam of hope in my heart... Aching to bloom. In all things of beauty every sparkling star. The shuffle of your stride, the moonbeam in the dark The smell of fresh cut grass in the park The sounds of love surround me and I wonder how I shall escape them when I wake... And then, in my sleep, they creep in like thieves, robbing me blind... And I feel you close enough to touch and smell your heat. These are the ties that truly bind... No lifestyle, no submission, *******, or ****** act of contrition... Rather the subtle pressure of your hand on my wrist, professing that while it is over now, it was never casual, it was significant and with hope's most earnest desire.