Sincerity and sympathy wrapped with a bow, chasing your empty aspirations until your lungs give out.
Your eyes a crystalline green with purple crescent moons hung beneath.
Pale skin stretched and cut to fit every sorrow you’ve been forced to carry.
Your fingers have turned more pages than could be counted and I just want to see them intertwined in mine.
But I am afraid.
You look like the result of Mother Nature and the moon having a one night stand. You’re everything good and pure and safe compressed into a six foot something frame and my god do you glow.
I am just a degenerate beauty queen with fast hands and a slow heart.
I would give up so much to hold your beautiful broken heart,
But my hands are just too dirty.
Darling, I wholeheartedly accept your words with an unprecedented flattery, but I must interject on your self assessment;
You’re the righteous queen that my barren kingdom craves. Please do not hesitate to grace the void with your presence.
Your eyes an alluring ocean for my weary feet to tread along its shores. And I feel an inferno when I meet your tender lips.
With soft edges and such a fragile frame, it bewilders me so mad that any sensible being could be so unheeding and vile with you.
I would pawn off every clock to my name and speak my tongue to an exhaustive collapse just to try and keep you sane.
Your hell is as irrational as mine, lashing at our bones and scorching our spines with a damned incessant melancholy
But with your fingers clasped in mine, I have the audacity to venture us through this. I want to make the demons envy us.
And do not fret over any blood on your lovely fair hands, the scarlet blotches on your palms hold no bearing on you.
They are of no consequence, but perhaps it should lessen the burden for you to know that my hands are stained too.