Paranoid-poppies - Poems By A Girl In Love

I might crumble into sharp fragments if someone touched me.

My skin soft and warm beneath his hands; flesh dipping and submitting to his fingers like an overripe fruit.

No,

I would melt before any contact happened. Soak into my sheets just as rain does with the ocean.

I am entirely new to this, virgin to touch, inexperienced and terrified of all things in this realm of life.

Do you know what you do to me?

There's a strange peace that comes with spending time with someone dear in the later hours of the day. Tranquility that can only be found when with the people that matter most, and still, only on occasion. I admire your form as if it is the last thing I will see before I become blind. Because it's the only thing worth seeing when time is running short like this.

The way you are around me makes me feel as if you believe the same. You keep things that matter to you close still, yet make me an important fixture in this moment.

My Heart

It hangs precariously from a single digit on your left hand. A fragile thread keeping it aloft as it shifts restlessly in a breeze. I presented that broken and wrongly-bloodied mess to you in the form of a confession. It was a guilty admission that I had done something terribly cruel to myself. I trusted you to care for it. Then this? This is the treatment it receives? It does not even rest in your palm. I had expected for you to treat it with a little more care and respect, to treat it better than I have, but no. You could not even offer me the courtesy of holding it responsibly, so that if it falls and breaks, it is your fault. So that I can blame you instead of the winds.

Those arteries and veins and muscles that pumped life through me; I gave them to you because you had me fooled that you could care for them better than I; That you could keep the blood as red and pure as wine; That you could keep it from spilling time and time again; And from creating a new, harder to clean, deep red stain on the carpet of my bedroom.

A bedroom is a god's domain. You would know. A space that should be worshipped and treated as if it is a church or a temple. Each time you spill blood in my bedroom you taint my life like no other can. Because I gave my heart up to you in a blinding haze of unusual affection and compassion that has driven me mad ever since.

I hope that next time you are careless and my heart breaks a little more in consequence, you are reminded that the lost blood will follow you. That my tragedy does not exclusively lead to me anymore. Your footsteps leave their prints behind in the same horrifying deep red.

feral.