6517101945_afa6ace242_o

He sees more than he says and feels much more than he’d ever confess,

but there’s a way to him. There’s a way through the vines and the steel,

straight into a soul he claims will never heal.

‘I like the sadness,’ he says. ‘It suits me.’

It suits him until his gaze turns cold and suddenly he’s bold,

telling me that he knows what I’m thinking, but I can’t have him…

that there’s no way.

But there’s a way to him. There’s a way past the wounds and the scars,

right into a chest clenched tight with ribs like bars.

‘It’ll never work,’ he says. ‘You’re sweet and I’m sour.”

I’m sweet until I’m not and with sweetness forgot

I tell him he doesn’t know me, that I don’t think he ever will…

that there’s no way.

But there’s a way to me.

A way that I keep to myself; I hold it tightly to my chest.

It’s for the best.

“With my pain and my past,” I say. “There’s no way it could last.”

But he won’t leave.

Eyes open to see nothing but his skin pressed against my own.

His vines and his steel,

His wounds and his scars…

they’re mine.

We’re intertwined.

And so it seems…

this is our way.

Share Button