i would love to have something

beautiful to tell you, something

that would make your eyes shine

from the inside and not just because

the matches are setting them alight in

blue-flamed glory.



i want to tell you that the little things

are worth holding on for,

little things like the feel of bare feet

on grass when there is still dew on the

flimsy pieces of yellow-green.

little things like the taste of chocolate

licked off a lover's fingertip.

little things like running so fast along

an open road that it hurts to breathe and

you have to fling yourself to the ground and watch

the clouds swim by.



i want to make you bloom again

and see the flush of something like

happiness underneath your pale

cheek that burns like death in this black room.



because death doesn't need hospitals or sickness

to touch us and i know that it feels like

you're tried to get up again. i know you're afraid

to speak out because it seems so cliché to feel this way,

they'll blame it on the age



"he's 17, they all feel this way"



please take my hand and come up here with me

where the air tastes like honeysuckle,

where the sun is filtered through

gentle white clouds. please open up

your heavy door, walk outside,

steal a chocolate bar, come to my

bedroom and lie beside me until

your heart starts to beat regularly again.