#oh him

He would enjoy the attention... Even if he'd get a bit flustered at times, he'd feel nice he's loved...

He would purr every time he's with his partners cuz he's just so happy... A rumble so deep you could feel it in your chest.

Also cuz he'd be pretty close. He most definitely likes to cuddle, so cuddle piles would be a daily occurrence...

His shirt doesn't necesarily have to stay on if you ask nicely, he's hesitant cuz of his scarred ribs but convincing him shouldn't be that hard when he has a bunch of loving voices gently reminding him how attractive he is...

But... sometimes that much reassurance could make him bold... And he acts when he's feeling bold... So he wouldn't be the only one mildly flustered anymore...

theres not much i miss about him,

other than everything about him

And yes, I fucked up,

And yes, I don’t really deserve your forgiveness

And yes, yes, yes, yes, I am sorry

Of course I’m sorry

… Why wouldn’t I be?

do you think if i held him tight enough,

he couldn’t leave again

and i could

let go of myself

smiling with my full face,

maybe this time i wont need to calm down,

maybe i wont have a manic attack,

does he remember coming up with that pun? im so tired now

tired of looking from a distance,

tired of glancing around and making sure none of them are there,

so i can stop smiling.

i miss them.

fuck i miss all of them.

every single one

what’s the point in writing poems for them if it won’t bring them back?

what’s the point anymore

and yet

With gasping breaths and shaking limbs

My quivering flesh was undone

Sliced open and devoured

And I died

And died again

Slowly rising back to life after each

Falling back into myself

Awareness in the tips of my fingers

The threads tightening my soul back into my body

A master seamstress merging the two

And still you conquer

Ripping my stitches