I need to stop being such a sap
I have to leave that job to the trees
But with the high I get off your air
I can’t stop writing lame poetry

Another little chump loser stuck
With birds circling around his head
Under your richly green canopy
I‘m sure he would much rather be dead

A poet and hopeless romantic
What a “unique” horrible cliche
Recounting recounting syllables
Your sap keeps him trapped in such a daze

This sucker thinks he’s in love again
Must have fell straight from the very top
And made a home safe in your warm shade
Now the poetry just cannot stop

Broken broken record
Love songs on repeat repeat
I Got You Babe
Unchained Melody
Let It Let It Be Me

Despite living in San Antonio my entire life, I had never seen inside the Alamo; The same way you said you used to drive around my neighborhood on your way home from work every Sunday, but never inside.

If you or I had turned in, though, I'm sure we wouldn't have liked the view very much. Crooked, outdated, houses lay out along uneven roads, paved decades ago; The ghosts of those who had died fighting a battle that seems so irrelevant and far away, trapped inside heavy stone walls. What was the point?

They're just buildings. Another sight, seen.

How small the must the world be for us to pass each other in our day-to-day life, ignorant to what the future holds?
How many times had I seen you out and about, without ever longing for a deeper connection?

If it wasn't for meeting you, I still wouldn't have went inside the Alamo. You would've kept driving around my neighborhood every Sunday night.
We both would've been unaware of the ghosts that reside behind these heavy walls.

Maybe I would've found a reason to go, and maybe you would've too. Curiosity? Boredom? Perhaps we would've ran into each other. (I like that thought).
Maybe, at that time, instead of embracing these ghosts, they would've scared us away for good.

Either way, I would've never gotten to know you, and that's more terrifying than any ghost we could find in each other.

Push me down
                            d
                              e
                                e
                              ­    p
                                    e
                          ­            r
                                          with your words

             I’ll take anything you offer me
                  Any adjectives or verbs

I often think about our impending doom
How one day we must say our goodbyes
And go our separate ways in the universe
Whether we are complete or not

I like to imagine that you’ll move on to be
The brightest star in the midnight sky
On the first night of a new moon
When it’s hard to see past the darkness

That’s what you’ve always been to me
A light only bright enough to help
See that tomorrow can be a certainty
And that the night can only be so somber

Often times I look up into the sky and wonder
How I managed to find a star brighter than the sun

She loves so wholly
But even god himself knows
She can’t be fulfilled

You have this scar on your right collarbone, about 4-5 inches long. Rods underneath help keep it intact, you can feel the screws if you run your fingers over it.
You said you broke it while skateboarding 6 years ago, I figure you tried to do some trick that felt right in that moment. A trick I would probably drool over, if I'm being honest.
Sometimes you get insecure when you notice me looking at it or touching it, and I don't understand why. It's pink hue reminds me of the sky at the perfect time of day, when it's not too hot or too cold outside.
I imagine you went through a lot of pain to acquire that piece. I hear that pain is beauty, and it's definitely more beautiful than any sunset I've seen.