When you like someone everything changes, doesn't it?
It's as if the rules don't apply.
Your turn offs fade away and you don't quite understand why.
You start to notice the little things,
Like the way they their eyes squint when they smile.
Or how their hair is always a mess,
Or how beautiful their awkward laugh is.
You see the best in them when everyone else sees the worst.
You look at them with that lust, a desire,
A beating in your heart screaming kiss me.
But until that happens all you can think about is how they're going to taste on your lips,
How your sheets are going to smell once they've left,
And how your heart is gonna skip a beat every time he says your name.
Some would call it an infatuation,
I'd just call it a crush.

we started a painting
when we met.
i was the artist,
and you weren't,
but i was okay with that.
you painted carelessly,
and i cleared up all your mistakes.
it was a beautiful portrait,
and i was beyond ecstasy.
but one day,
i guess you became tired.
holding brushes
and painting in blotches and strokes,
you decided to stop,
you quit and left me there.
i watched you walk out of the painting,
i watched you walk out of my life.
so then, very slowly
i grew more tired on my own.
from colors, to monochromatic.
from rainbow to black and white.
our painting turned dull.
one day, i ended it all,
never touching a single brush.
i never finished the painting.
how would i,
when inspiration is gone?
and only you,
were my inspiration.

When we see it, it may be appealing, or it may be appalling – but surely it is natural, an Image straight from our minds projected on the screen of reality.

-The Manifestation Of "Infatuation"

When We Chase after it, it may be refreshing, or it may be exhausting –but surely it is natural, a force bound by the Law Of Emily that declares , "The Heart wants what the heart wants."

-The Aspiration of "Admiration"

When we Feel it, it may be exhilarating, or it may be infuriating – but surely –
It isn't natural,
A feeling that, in order to make us feel like we're flying – we would have to fall before hand.

-The Paradox of "Paradise"

When we lose it, it is only the latter of all three stages before it.
Appalled at the sight, of the conclusion to the exhausting flight within Paradise –A journey seemingly destined to last forever.

-The "End"

You are my moon.
I know it's a metaphor and
I know it's prone to misinterpretation
But isn't that what's great about metaphors?

You are the sky.

What do you mean?

It means what it means and what you think it means.

What do you think it means?

It doesn't matter what I think it means.

But you wrote it, didn't you? You ought to know.

That's the thing about writers. We write things and we don't know
what they mean, really. For there is not one frame for each line
and each picture we paint. It's about writing masterpieces that can be
broken down to different pieces. Maybe even to the point that it is
crushed to sand and turned to dust. Dust flies away with the wind and
if poetry might turn to dust, then I will be glad.

-D.D.

I drew a line in the sand
Hoping it would stay
But I watched the tide take it away

The water reclaimed its land
As I saw my boundaries come crashing down
While my pride began to drown

A fragile mark made by my hand
I lost control of my actions
Only to be fueled by passion

My mind is lost at sea trying to find its way back
But it's hard to stand on solid ground
When the lines are being washed away and drowned

Why does thinking of love
Make me think of you?
I don't even get it

Why is love thought to be so strong
When you can love a pair of shoes

Why is love tied with loss
Was it asked to

How does love tie with you?

I've been
waiting seven centuries for you to
meet me halfway
keeping a close eye on the movements of the planets when
all I had to do was to
spin a hundred and eighty degrees.

When people say
"music is life"
it makes sense
we allow our memories to live
within the music we listen to
so when we have a song on repeat
we're actually replaying the memories
over
and
over
again
so we will never forget
all the wonderful times
or the horrible, sad ones

{e.p}