False Awakenings: Something
/Fuck me like I'm yours
touch like I'm him
though I know I'm not
so I know I'm not.
we are second string,
red bottles with blue lids
pouring all we've got
into each other.
But the crafts created
from broken pieces
are most beautiful, sometimes.
You are beautiful, to me
sometimes
when I need you to be.
When you need to be.
And that's all that matters to us.
Us.
Whatever it means
Whatever this
makeshift fort
of misguided emotions is designed to do.
It is something.
It is soemthing
to call our own.