He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

I'm never going to strip for you. I'm not going to stand in front of you and slowly take off all my clothes, while you watch. I'm not a slow person. I will push you down, and kiss you so hard you won't be able to breathe, so you push me away and strip me of my clothes yourself. you'll tear them off like its the one thing you need to do to survive, and I'll tear yours off, my mouth never leaving yours. we'll be a tangled mess of limbs and sweat covered clothes, kissing every part of each other, tasting one another as if we're each other's need for survival. I'm never going to strip for you, because I am in need of fast. I am in need of want. I am in need of you.