I genuinely wish there were more of us out there, people create reasons, lies, excuses and walls. They build them up and strap a cannon to their trapezius to ward off contact. I’m the type of person that wants to pry but just enough to peak an interest, I want your secrets and I don’t all at the same time. I wish you could spill it all, I’ve told you this before I don’t tangle things, there is no ball of stringy mess and the words don’t screech and skid and slam into each other on the coffee table. I guess I’m asking you to get naked without taking your clothes off, of course I would love for you to take your clothes off as it would aesthetically please me, but I wouldn’t want to force that part either maybe just the contact of skin is just as important as the light peeking through the blinds when we’re wrapped up in the covers legs tangled, feet touching perfectly or the resting of your head on my shoulder or my chest, squirming until we find the perfect position, losing it and finding it again. That’s when things are most perfect when my mind is blank but later it’ll lead to an idea, a memory that will stain me deep, I want you to pick the color of course and give it to me a long with the kisses on my neck and the thousands of eye lashes that I count in my head every time I see you. Your fingertips poised and warm, pink and electric sparking when we touch not realizing it.
I can’t force myself to know you. Moving through the world and not understanding it, problems nawed at him, this is the part where I would explain the bones and the graveyard and the animal with whatever poor soul was unlucky enough to be clenched in its paws. He hadn’t eaten yet that day either trying to feed off of whatever starving himself did for his creative palate or what he assumed it did. He just had an argument, a let down that he didn’t yet feel responsible for but the nawing persisted. Craving something else is what brought him to the crossroads the smothering was getting to be too much at a time, his wrongs were counted and he hated it, he didn’t want the guilt and not particularly the praises, maybe the praises of who was praising. He didn’t want to be a waste, helplessly ranting or scrutinizing the wrong objectives. Becoming fixed or complacent but was it too late. All he wanted was to help you to ensure that you had everything you could take from him the question was do you leave some for himself, for a stranger or do you swallow the marrow from his bones?