February 2, 2018

he paints sunflowers shoots bullets balls his fists and plays with lighters
i kiss the skeletons in his closet and he sets fire to the little monsters in mine
he shatters my bones and i feel dahlias twining through the bones of my ribcage
he dresses like a walking addiction baggy flannels and dark beanies and bitten lips
he speaks like apollo and paints like a perfectionist with a reckless streak
his bones are sharply edged and his knuckles are stained garnet and obsidian
they say no guts no glory and since meeting him i can only taste blood and honey

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