in his sleep…

the way he speaks of me in his sleep

there are
things he holds
close, in the awake,
in the lucid,
things he feels, but he fears
how they might fall out so helpless,
so unarmed, so defenseless…
and god, how those walls
can make me question.

but then he dreams with an open chest,
and he tells me of what he’s sure of,
and that i can let my head rest,
‘cause this isn’t a small love,
and that most times it feels like too much love,
and so sometimes… he’s just afraid.

so my fears… they just fall quiet
with the way he speaks to me
in his sleep.

he may have a
hardened chest in the wake light,
but there are flowers in the moonlight,
and when his fears fall quiet…
there are all these things he feels
when his defenses are down.

– butterflies rising

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your clever words…

your clever words

if only my angels had been like hurricanes
powerful, and relentless enough to consume the pain
and the world around me,
but your demons had the upper hand
and if you simply took my hand, i followed you anywhere it hurt
if you just dressed it up in clever words, whatever worked
to pull me into your sibylline world
and to make me think that you really meant it
and that you’d never said it
not to the girl before
or to the girl who was with you that night
while you promised it was safe to sleep tight

– butterflies rising

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