Behold.
The cup is full my love.
My ribs are now held close.
With silk so tender and nameless.
And your lips newly plumped.
Your skin perfect finally.
Pore less.

Take these paper memories, these fragile moons, break them for our bed.
Our perfect rest. A final mistake. 
Fear for the future. The past is not to come. 

Forever leathered throats and close knit bones. 
Drink tonight. 
It is only a carton away. 
The death of your insecurities. 

You drive by and smell the rot. 
By the creek, the timbers never cured. 

Forget the trees lining your sunset. 
Drink. Allow your beach to rise as you fall. 
Refresh again. 

Someone else. 
Peel away the layers and remove your face from this haunting. 
Step outside into the night's cold brilliance. 

Scream. 
Allow yourself to wake. And pretend for a pence that this is it. This is light. 
With your back against the ceiling. 
And again my eternity, with your back against the quilt. 
Sweat and tremble, awake in you what stayed weak. 

Control emotion in the room, wait for the paint to dry. 
A cold abyss grown darker with these moments at work. 
These hollows of warmth. 

I'm directing this and you are arriving with sickness. 
Just a puzzle eternal now. 
A walk on the beach chasing sand. 
Waiting for dust. 

Scream.

Welcome to my web, baby.
Better get comfortable.
I'll spin you,
Ensnare you in my thread.
Until you are nothing but juice in my core.

-a.r.r.

You are the razor's glistening edge.
Slits across fingertips.
Yes, there will be bloodshed.
Blood from tips to wrists dripping and spilling from my veins.
It is not poetic.
So I'll clean up my own mess.
No nerves left to damage with the memory of you hardened, turned to stone,
stored in nails and soft hairs.
Locked away. No key in sight.
I have tried to unfurl these fists,
only to fumble around with the essence, the innocence, of lovers after.
These hands are cracked, wrinkled,
disintegrating.
Their untold stories turned to dust.
My palms no longer hold signs of a future.
They can do nothing.
Paralyzed by your pride.
Paralyzed by your edge.
Glistening.
A razor's edge.

Baby, let's break the world.
We'll hum a symphony
and skip stones across mountains
while we smoke cigarettes rolled with desire.

We'll bottle the oceans
and sell them for $1.99 a piece
while we turn diamonds to liquid sand
that's capable of softening these innumerable miles of asphalt into fields of yellow.

Let's break the world, my love.
We'll show the universe that we are more than just tiny flecks of flesh forced to live and be bound by the rules of fragile glass.

Let's break this Godforsaken world
and leave it to rot.

You are not perfect, darling.
Far from it, actually.
Your aura is lined with jagged edges.

I know it.
You know it.
God knows it.

But that is what makes us so extraordinary.
Your jagged edges expertly fill my empty spaces.

No one is formulated quite like you.
Never has there been.
Never will there be.

You are you, made imperfectly just for me.

I know it.
You know it.
God knows it.