He’s kind


The kind of boy, the kind of heart you keep,

pulsing like a firefly in your aching palms, looking for salvation in his breaths and glances and when he holds the door, or ties your shoe, or makes it so the rain can’t hurt you--all it does is allow the rain to turn to spears 

He’s kind 

But he’s also a kind of razor, 

jagged and pointed in the way that when you fall for him you will cut yourself and the rain like molten lightning will rip and tug your mind for all its best memories, dragging them through the mud for you to string across your neck with his heart 

His heart which was never yours 

His heart with its puzzling smirk and firefly beat and sly claws,

laying upon your neck and slitting your throat

when all you wish for is to break its chain