You are authentic.
Like finger tips laced with bones, or, mine with yours.
The storm becomes bearable over time but not for someone as bona fide as you that can feel the rawness within them.
Broken records play your name because you see right through this subliminal love.
And I believe you'll never feel for me as I feel for you.
But I'd like you to share this pain, even if it suffocates me until I'm crushing joy with my knees as I kneel gasping for air.
Take my hand, stand me up, show me your world.
I wish to be incapable of love just as you are.
I wish to feel no pain or sorrow but yet to be consumed by it.
We can balance the sting, if that means somehow my agony could make you yearn for me, I'm willing to.
