Let me be the canvas to your cheap art,
the rugged rhymes to your insincere poetry,
the rusty nail to your silly trust coffin.
Allow me to stab you with my clean knife,
so clean in fact I can see your rigid reflection.
Allow me to ossify your gaze into mine,
disturbed by the freckles on my pale arm.
Allow me to kiss the top of your forehead,
undrenched from the evils of this wretched world.
Let me. Allow me.
Tell me, that it's going to be all right all night,
that it doesn't matter who and where we are,
that souls can be bent and broken,
but they can also be mended, unspoken.
Give me a needle and a thread.
Stitch me up like you would a broken doll,
abandoned by a grown up eight year old.
Stitch me. Fix me. Then wait...
for me to come undone,
interrupted by the cold of the sun.