Anything.
String to tie me up.
Stiches to close the wounds.
Bring the frayed edges together again, reweave my worn down garments,
Fill in the deep hollows,
Replace the stale sighs with fresh breath, the rancid love with new affection.
Clean faces to gaze on, no scars, no raging blemishes, no stinging acne.
A happy hand. A real smile. Teach me to live again.
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How to be honest without being trite? To speak of sadness without self-pity. That's what I want.
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