Darling,

What will you think of me if I open my mind and you see the rot?

And you see a darkness, which on its own would be bad enough

But there's the pungent smell of dead memories

Regret slowly eating away at happiness.

The consciousness, a burning shrub, serves as the only light

Darling,

What will you think of me if I show you my heart?

A flesh drum lacerated by the claws of naivety

Every diastole rips it apart a little more

The solid core beaten to pieces by loves' hostility

Hope, it's only adhesive, weakening by the raging despair

Darling,

What will you think of me if I show you the writings I hide away?

The ones too true to show the world

The ones that speak volumes of the feelings behind the smiles

With words that recreate past bliss and then destroys it

Incantations that invoke pain when read again

Darling,

What will you see if I open up?

Will you see a broken soul needing ardour

Will you see blackness to be painted white

Or will you see a lost cause with no hope for retroversion