If she wanted to tell him, she could.

She could go to his door and tell him:

She was sorry, a broken down mess,

She was scarred and lonely and full of doubt.

She was sick to her stomach and nervous as hell.

She would say this with the utmost trepidation,

And he would just lucidly understand,

Give her that meek smile and then

It would be okay and chaos would fall,

Gracefully upon them.

Hands strewn about, his warm maybe hot

Lips on her neck, her clavicle, her mouth.

Her eyes searching his for any lost clue,

His messy hair tousled and his touch exhilarating,

And then the world closing in around them,

Him on top, inside, and as quickly as they started,

She comes and he follows right after…both wanting.

But that’s if she wanted to tell him,

If she wanted to let chaos take hold,

For right now, behind her guard, is the safest place of all.

Far, far from the truth, the gut wrenching fear,

And closer than ever to desired chaos.