Show me the jagged landscape on your forearm
I ll let you run your fingers over the constellations on my thighs,
I like how branches, wires , skyscrapers cut the sky into fragments
I like how pottery cracks with age
I like how dried leaves fall apart at my touch
but I won't tell you all that
because I don't know how to form sentences
around the affinity for destruction and self harm
without letting madness take the centre of the stage
and cast shadows on everything else we are without any sharp objects in our hands,
So when I look into your eyes
and whisper "razor"
Whisper "blades" back to me.