(Fucking) Scruffy Nerfherders

You stretch my heart, glittery sky blue silly putty 

wrapped around your fingers, the ones that 
glide around the curves of my body, and drum 
to the beat of, "you're killing me, little one."

It starts with a simple fold like 
the way my body molds to yours,
in your grizzly brown bear embrace. 
It ends by morphing into a moonlit howl,
tantalizing me with cinnamon eyes. 

When I was twelve I played with silly putty
in the back of a safe haven, an escape, a trap,
drowning out the bass of my pains with the
thinnest of filters to block out the noise.
The trips ended but nothing was ever the same, 
you can't remove wrinkles and thumbprints.

I don't always feel beautiful but
you sure are a beast and does she
know what you text me, the way you 
walk that line between an enticing rose
in a glass case and a heart in a steel cage.

The thing you're forgetting about silly putty
is that malleability is not autonomous from scars, 
the deeply etched lines that reflect how soiled people 
can become when you toy with their emotions.