you will meet a girl
and she won’t carry violent secrets on her arms
but she will be delicate;
she will kiss like her lips are soldiers and yours a minefield.
she won’t walk with rose bushes beneath her feet,
because she has already gathered them into a vase on your kitchen table.
and while you lay in her bed
she will run her feathers across your skin
and you will forget you’re ticklish.

unfinished/unstarted poem // June 7, 2014 at 11:23pm)

Does anyone else lie in bed at 2:30am filled with the crippling fear that they’re never going to accomplish anything in life and fail miserably or is that just me