I

Writing

I want you to know that every time you smile it warms my empathetic heart.

Yes I think you’re gorgeous, yes I think you are intelligent, yes I want to know what makes you tick, yes I want to hold you and never let go, yes I want to take a walk through your memories and get to understand you.

Maybe on that midnight walk through your memories I get to understand the things you hold within that cold glance you continue to carry.

Maybe once I get to know you, I can be on the top of the world.

Your heart is a window, I want to open it and see what’s behind it, maybe some warmth that reminds me of the grasps that my mother gave me before she would leave for work on Saturday afternoons.

This is becoming less real; there are slow beating ticks that bump around in your heart.

They keep pushing me out; I don’t know how to get back inside of you, your heart is so closed off.

You have been harmed scarred by the bad influences of a lover whose words may have been cruel.

I see that cold stare, you are hiding something.

Your cold eyes, they don’t warm around me. You’re guarding it, whatever secret you hold it’s eating at your soul’s desires and you are slowly slipping yourself mental depressants hoping that the pain will disperse, maybe I’m not good enough still maybe you just don’t notice the effort I put forth into trying to obtain your heart in a hearse of black silk and sweet roses.

You have this grin upon your brow as I try to explain the questions that needed to be addressed.

The question of how I could grab a hold of your heart and rescue it from that hearse shrouded in black holes sucking in all of the sweetness that came near it.

You don’t want to be saved or maybe you just don’t notice me.

I should just be a fucking unicorn.

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