I Scribble

I wish for a men who would treat me like I am a delicate doll that's made out of porcelain. Too afraid to break me and too afraid to get the smallest speck of dust on me. Someone who admires me to the point of whorship, as if my body is a sacred temple and my heart is the Garden of Eden. Where he can relish, and enjoy every type of harvest, and rest under a gentle shade protecting him from the harsh sun. Where he can dip himself in the waters after a hard day out. Where he can relax, and take secret refuge from living in a tough reality. Where he can have everything he wants. Unless he takes a bike from the forbidden apple—shattering my heart into a million pieces—then he could be banished to the deepest pits of hell.

I need it all to stop.

Everything.