My edges are rough,
Because my past gave me deeper cuts.
I leave scars on the people,
Whenever I touch.
Make sure you're a sandpaper!
Because my darling,
These memories have me tied up
And thoughts made me fired up.
Be the sandpaper and
Rub yourself against me
to smooth my parts which are rough.

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When people hurt you over and over ,think of them like a sand paper. They may scratch and hurt you a bit ,but in the end ,you end up polished and they end up useless.....!!

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I know of defeat,
standing in the field
with bent knees uttering surrenders
of blues gone grey,
of greens gone brown,
of flesh and blood gone cold,
of you — lost in a crowd
The warmth of your sandy skin
abrasing the last bits of love
you left on my skin, a hurtful amber,
partly sheened
Barbed wires clutch my throat
as I gasp for air in guttled words,
claustrophobic in an open war-ground
full of guns, roses, thorns,
and sandpaper hands

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My once empyrean dreams, now owner of a sandpaper quality, a skin slicing abrasiveness; a small betrayal changing, their basic character.

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"I think too deeply about everything."
The warmth of Your hands and the feel of the inside of your hand when it's in mine.
I am the sandpaper while You are silk...

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