I lie here on my bed trying to think of poetry that'll make his heart race –POUND under my finger tips
make him feel all googey and sappy like caramel that sticks to the roof of your mouth I'm trying to make him melt like tree sap on a warm day, trying to make his eyes so sour he cries lemondrops and faints into my arms
my phone recognises what's good for me why can't i
I type in / I hate / the next word is /
You /
Him, he smells like January like hot flowers and sticky sand between your feet you cant help but love him with his curly hairy and neon green eyes oh God his face was sculpted by sickly sweet teenage girls that look so paper thin you can snap their bones in two but you love them any way because at least they aren't me
☁
Maybe we are the ones that
break our own hearts
we walk into a situation
knowing we'll get attached
