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Toothpick.
December 25, 2013
It's sad how I compare myself to a toothpick
whenever I think about you.
Whenever I see you,
or hear your name,
my heart drops
and I become weak in the knees.
You could break me so easily,
and it's sick because I know how happy I'd be
just to be in between your fingertips;
How happy I'd be to become the splinters,
caving into your skin
It's sad that I often wish to be the toothpick
in between your lips,
circulating from the roof of your mouth,
to the tip of your tongue.
And how easy it would be,
for your teeth
to snap me in half.
© Christina L., Great Falls, VA
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