Poems for the Pained

If Not in Solid Form

I can never seem to find the words I wish to say to you.

I want to pour my soul into your hands,
Allow you to hold the liquified traits and feelings
That make me who I am.
But I am afraid that my soul, if not in solid form,
Will slip through the cracks between your fingers.
If I give you all of me will you return the droplets back?
Will I recieve my entire being or will some of me get lost along the way?
What if I cling to the grooves in your fingertips,
Or fall to the pebbles on the concrete?

If I evaporated, would you breathe me in?
Hold me in your lungs as I slowly seep into the blood and bones inhabiting your skin.
Would you let me linger,
Leave me to bask in the atoms that intertwine to create such a perfect person?
Or would you kick me out,
Cough me up as though I was a clump of tar?
I will block you airways until you begin to choke on the miniscule particles of my being,
I will fill your lungs and make sure that the oxygen you crave is gone.
I am all that you will need.