Ellen Pearson

 

they said:
be careful,
little girl,
this is not a world made
for tender hearts.
he will wrap your body
in gasoline trailing from his lips
and then he will scorch your skin
with his hands clamped on your hips.

they said:
be careful,
little girl,
these boys are not here
to stitch your tattered strings.
he will whisper sweet nothings
into your ear and you will believe
that they are mending you,
but that is just what they are - nothings.

but oh, 
god,
i wanted to drown
in the ocean waves of your smile,
wanted to shackle my wrists
beneath your fingers.
i would have put a noose
about my neck,
had your fingers tied the knots.

and oh,
god,
how euphoric it was
to hand my heart
into your hands of ash
and watch as that organ disintegrated
and became indecipherable
from your own flesh.

—  sinners // saints (h.q.)