I pick up your limp wrist,
This is the beginning.
Fresh bud, I want to mend you
Yet also so carelessly discard your trust
With this hand,
Cruel child, locked in the dark of my closet
Who did this? Are you disowned? Come,
I want to heal you, your awkward disposition, honest to God –
Skinny love, I haven’t forgotten…
Your worn cotton T-shirt atop your lean muscles
Not yet developed. Kid, you’re too young
Truly, playing russian roulette
Tuning into the voicemail right before it hits play
Quick, quickly, before it goes off – turn it off !
I realize the headphone’s been plugged in, dangling off the precipice,
Of course, our voices have been plugged, in
This intermediate silence,
I adore your cracked and bruised skin
Cherished chess piece,
I would fold you up like the tinfoil of a sandwich wrap,
Gently, as to not disturb the silhouette
Though ultimately the held breath expires, in due time
You exist only in my imagination, a consuming conundrum
In a sick, sick patronizing fashion
I’d wish you to galvanize me , as I to you.
But you would fight me every step of the way
The human spirit in true aggravating juxtapose,
It is you who have taken me.