You wear your sins like royal thread,

a crown of thorns upon your head.

Your hands have built, your hands have torn,

they’ve held me close, they’ve left me worn.

The world cries out, it speaks your name,

etched in echoes carved by flame.

Yet in the dark, where no one sees,

you whisper love like dying leaves.

I hope it rains in hell—

not to quench your fire,

...

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I liked the way he looked at me

Like I was the only thing he could see

or that was worth looking at. 

I liked the smile he made for me

A tailored face, specifically 

to tell me what he couldn't say. 

I liked the things that went unsaid

The message in the nod, the tilt of his head, 

the eye contact held too long. 

I liked his arms, skin brushing skin

A s...

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