Something deep in my stomach wants to throw up raw blades but my thighs are already covered in blood.
So people can see I’m alive, I plant a peach tree underneath bullets in my skin.
She didn’t deserve my touch.
When all it did was carve a rotting apple into a cross wound.
To the future someone who will be lucky to have her, please be gentle.
Don’t take advantage of her kindness. She is beautifully fragile but equally as strong.
It’s not just hidden aside the walls of collarbones, or dissolved into the bottom of your morning coffee.
It was in her careful accent and burn on her forearm.
She will put herself in your shoes, when they have fallen apart, or when you just learned how to walk again.
She will do everything for you because she wants too, let her, but not for everything.
Absorb her courage to give.
Give, through slots of ecstasy, through veins of burning leaves, and through honest loyalty that intertwined with your fingers.
Make sure she doesn’t fall for you without reason.
She fears her scars may infect you. Reassure her they wont.
Be more than enough.
Be more than just a faded memory; keep her safe and listen to her songs.
You can hear the lyrics each time she asks if you’re okay, each time she admits she’s shy.
Adore the air being put in your lungs, before her needle compliments set all your hummingbirds of helium free.
Try not to make mistakes; she understands this world is a crooked and cruel place.
Therefore, it has made her harsher then she would rather be.
She’s already been down that road, so take the train tracks in-between her knuckles and wrists as a path to hold on.
To the future someone who will be lucky to have her, don’t mess up like I did.
Know the type of petals dusting the cobwebs out of your spine.
Admire the little things with her, laugh, and never forget.
Most importantly; To the future someone who will be lucky to have her, never set her up to have no other choice but to let you go when she didn’t want too.