I glance at him, piercing his iris,
I need him for comfort in times of crisis.
I want him to hold me whilst my body lay lifeless,
yet find beauty in my soul like my mortality is timeless.
I look up in his pride and then glance at the door.
A situation I’ve examined curiously before.
Watching his maturity fade,
I still fail to believe his intentions aren’t pure.
It’s a shame though,
as for when I’m holding onto the glint in his eyes,
his hand is slowly puncturing my core.
my greatest trait is that I accept all of your flaws,
my worst is that I love you despite them.
As for all the colours of emotion that leak through your lips,
the smell of your skin seems to blind them.
For you I would take life,
for you my flesh would bleed.
Even though the favour is not
reciprocated,
it is my own doing;
for being so naive.
I’m not sure weather my luck was fatal
or you were just a bad seed.
As for all when a book gets opened,
I am poetry
and you, my dear, can’t read.