The fragility of the heart is the closest certainty I know
I used to think a broken heart was a hyperbola
give a description of your remission  
the loudest sound of all love unspoken
yet we always hear the sound of love broken
and if  you repair something broken
it is never the same even if the flaws are never seen
the more it breaks the harder it will be to pawn off as being in  perfect condition
if you sew up an incision you will most likely see a scar

Blue lips
Slow hips
Sway away, darling
I need to relax
But I more-so need
To express myself
To dress myself
With a smile
Fragrance myself
With positivity
Your passion within itself
Is my favourite scent
It is sweet
Like recognition
For who I am
But gentle
Like your touch
Like your art

Blue lips
Beautiful even when hurt
Soft even when bleeding
Swollen with effort
Stolen with a kiss
You touch my soul
With less fragility
You are rough
With your ideas
Your beautiful ideas
Share your ideology
With me, please
Spill your thoughts
Onto more than just paper
Pour yourself
Into my heart
As if you haven't already
Come back soon
I'll be here, waiting

Blue lips*
You must remember
That beauty comes
After pain...
You may go through a lot
But I see only more beauty
Within your bravery
I admire you
I desire you
For you are strong, darling
You are fierce
Pretty, simple, complicated,
Like a silver feather...
You just need to remember
That you will not be blue
Forever.

It is not in idleness
That I justify my reproachfulness
That is where it is judged
Scathed upon
Laughed about
Debated
Still elating in my sorrowful bath
I reproach
Condensation lining the walls of my fragile heart
It feels like cold glass
Throbbing inside a marble cage
Every beat
In every way
Close to shattering it's tiny pieces upon the cold linoleum
That provides the floor
To my aching gut
It's in idleness
That I may remain...

Ivory skin,
     alabaster nerves.
Daisy chain veins,
     lily petal fingertips.
Eggshell skull,
     cellophane lungs.
Brittle ladder ribcage,
     punctured balloon heart.
Spineless ***** child,
     with his birds' bones and naivety.

We are fragile for different reasons.

I have never been dropped or scraped.
I am not mature enough to be hurt.
I am not a full sculpture.

You were thrown and shattered.
Fragments flew everywhere.
You were glued back together but there are too many discarded shards.

I will tell you I love you for now.
I will say it honest and proud.
But I will always have a fear of chipping off undried pieces.
And that's a sort of terrible thing.

Oscillating timekeeper ticks and tocs.
Pendulous seconds bumping time forward on the face of a clock.
Father Time, that Patriarchal chronometer
that martyr, master, commander and observer.
Watch the clock, it's moved forward, did you notice time moving?
Father Time so old, and bearded, a scythe by his side waiting to cull.
Waiting is dull.
Time is a lull, a lullaby before you die.
Cronus never steps back, always marches forwards
and we the human race, suspended in time, and space
watch the clock, wishing more time away with regret,
whilst watching the clocks face.

Listen,
to you it may all be a game,
it's a laugh,
a joke,
which is something I like the most about you;
there's nothing serious plaguing your soul

but it's just got to be remembered,
i'm much too fragile to fall for it
whole-heartedly,
i refuse to see myself as anything
special to anyone
i'm much too destructive for that

so thanks and all
but i don't think i'm right for you
and ******* for that too.

I love the word frailty
because it sounds like a fractured
version of fragility,
like someone twisted its torso
and filled its void with an ‘I’.

Which is funny
because ‘I’ is weak and ‘I’
always barely manages
the extra breath.

I saw her
My lip quivered
And my heart stopped

I saw her
The earth fell
And crashed into the abyss

I saw her
Realizing the chaos
As it shattered from her glimpse

I saw her
Looking into me
And regarding my essence

I saw her
Eyes piercing me
And I was petrified by her kindness

I saw her
Breathed in death
And the last of all beautiful things was seen

Have you ever realised how close a heart is to an egg?
When broken, shards are discarded, nonchalance remains.
What? So you broke an egg there's eleven more in the carton.
But, I don't have a dozen hearts.
When a heart breaks it takes more
than all the King's horses and all the King's men
to put my uneven heart back together again.

Hearts are caged like battery hens,
yet when free to roam they roost in the wrong home.
Affairs of the heart clot it's valves, congeals like a cold yolk.
Here, have a dozen roses, feel better?
I'd rather a dozen eggs, then when one breaks it's replaced
Bards and harps write and sing of the heart strings
never the cracks a heart, whilst broken brings.