tender heart

i am wired with wires around my neck

to be the subject of your endearment,
and not the page before the centrefold.
and when you throw the rock with your temperament,
i wish i didn't skip away with the stone.

if only i was genuine in my repertoire,
my love would not stem from adrenaline.
if i knew you built me up to build him an underpass,
would i still fold my brain to smooth his skin?

guilt asks me to hold you as my centrefold,
but guilt arises because you're her centrepiece
if only i wasn't the tar underneath this road,
if only i was nurtured and not moulded into me.