boyhood

v. thighs & sighs

t/w: self harm & blood

love is a monster when his kisses are flavoured candy cocaine and your breath won't leave your lungs until his tongue is between your legs, his fingers in your mouth.

he won't tell you he loves you.

but you've noticed the way his voice quivers when you call him beautiful and you've felt his heart rocket under your fingertips when you touch his baby soft skin. your boy scrunches his nose when you talk about other boys and laughs a little too loud when you ask him if he's jealous (he won't ever admit it). he likes to bruise the skin above your clavicles with his honey-dripping teeth, smirking when you moan out his name.

your baby boy is granite but you know his heart is cotton soft. his daddy's words tumble out in a liquor daze and his mama's eyes are liquid red as she watches the tv that has only one static channel, a knife in her hands as she slashes her wrists, again and again, the blood pooling on the linoleum floor in shapes of spiders and ghosts. still, your boy wraps clean white bandages around her raw-boned wrists and sings her to sleep, even when she spits in his face.

sometimes his knuckles are swollen pink and his lips are sky-blue, wobbling, you don't say anything as he unbuttons your pants and dips his head between your trembling thighs. when he looks up at you, his eyes are gushing blood.

you let him sleep in your lap and whisper comfort in his ear but you're sitting in a chlorinated pool of his blood red tears and he won't stop crying.