your arms made of inked words, wrapped around the centre of my entire universe. you have become the beautiful drawings of memories I never want to erase. your love has replaced the blood running through my veins, and all I need is a whisper of an 'i love you' to feel alive. because that's what I am now; alive and running free with ideas I never thought were possible. but they're possible with you. I danced last night, high off your love, tripping and stumbling over myself, but all I could think about was what your arms around me would feel like and all I could remember was the rush of giddiness I felt when I first met you, and how you caught me so easily.

you wrote to me again, last night. i could feel your strong hands through the crumpled paper, and i was reminded of the way you spoke, of the way your thoughts would float around my room like cherry blossoms, lost in the sweet smell of spring.

and me, lost in the sweet escape of you. the hypnotizing way you brought me into your summer light, and showed me what it was like to live. what it was like to be unafraid. because with you, i never felt scared.

but the sun began to dry up. taking away the dewy, summery days, where you held my hand. your words became fallen autumn leaves, red and orange, as they crunched under the weight of the heavy boots i wore back before the spring.

and this is when the ice came; it frosted up your eyes, and i knew i wouldn't be able to get you back. your hand, that once was filled with life and love, now gave me frostbite; one that i cannot recover from, because you have drained me of everything that i have, and everything that i was.

when i was nine years old, i learned about the seasons. i knew that after spring, came summer. following the summer came fall. and following that, came the winter.

i still wonder why i could never remember my seasons, when it came to you.

you are
the product
of your environment

you are
the summation of goods
and pieces
that they decided
to put together

you are
the left behind ruins
and scrap metal
that they found
and fixed into one,
and hoped for the best

you are
anger and screaming matches
and 2 am nights
when the house became
one person too short

you are
the tears of left behind scars
that you saved up in jars
because maybe
if you saved up enough,
you could wash away
all the bad memories
wash away the remains
of what you are

maybe then
you wouldn't just be made up of
regrets and sorry nights

maybe then
you'd be okay
with what you've become

i fall into you. into your beautiful. into everything that you are, and everything that you've created for me. you've picked out the things you know i'd like, created a collage of truth and love. and i think i'm falling into it.

but sometimes, i notice the way the page rips. and i notice how your glue doesn't always keep your picture stuck together. and i see how you so desperately try to cover up the fake roses you used, because you didn't feel like pricking your finger for the real one.

maybe i should keep a rope and a ladder, for the next time i see you

souls hidden in flesh and bone
enclosed in the containment
of physiological being

a galaxy

eclipsed by the shadows
of biology and cells

an entire universe

with the way our hands tingle
and the way your words
feel against mine

our souls
hidden in flesh and bone
trying to reach out
trying to create
an infinity

i want to bury myself in your beautiful and let you take me away into a spiral of drunken giddiness where your words become my addiction. i want to wrap myself in your soulful air and breathe in the arms that you wrap around me. i need u s to become us and for us, to become that one word that makes you smile in the beautiful way you do.

you once told me, my smile was the prettiest thing that you'd seen in a long while. but darling, maybe you don't understand how the times i really smile are the times when you do too; when you look at me in a way that only i know. in a way that makes me believe it's real. and we are; we are real, and it's beautiful

drooping eyes
and a fuzzy mind

little mud footprints
neath the hills
of my eyes

under eyes have
become littered
as the ground
of a forest

the impressions
of racoon feet
layering soft skin

the constant state
of racoon eyes

you came from stars that speak beautiful thoughts of how the moon shines. their tales a string of songs that only you know how to sing, because you're the only one who's ever seen the stars up so close. you're the only one they could find, the only one so beautiful, so worthy of sharing their space. you, my love, came from beautiful places. places that shine gold and silver. and, dearest, the next time my mouth spills words of "where did i find you from" answer me with this, answer me with the beautiful thoughts that float in your mind. answer me with you.

and when his words
become cinder blocks
implanted into myself

his being
becomes a vine
wrapping itself around me
keeping me,
so I don't leave

and when he bit into me
injecting me with his own
wondrous venom
that courses through my veins
that brings me back to life
that makes me feel things
that I hadn't known of
before

and when his words
become the only thing I can think about
that's when I know
this time,
it's real

you float like the particles i use, to try to wipe away the pain. although, i must admit, you do a better job of cleaning than i ever did; cleaning the stories from my past that have been stained red. you've read the blood-soaked tales as if they were your own. you dreamt my nightmares with me, turning each one into a beautiful song, a song that still echoes through my mind at night, when i think of you. and i think of you, most nights. you dance through my thoughts, throwing your beauty my way, and sometimes i try to catch it. i try to catch the sunlight that shines off your soul and reflects into mine, finally bringing it some light. the darkness, it's been covering it for far too long, and now finally, your beautiful makes me want to try. i try so maybe someday i could be as beautiful as you. because you are, so beautiful

Paper butterflies
with cream and white
fluttering wings

Rapidly beating hearts
against fragile chests,
they float
around rooms

Rooms covered with
memories from
the past
a past that
can no longer
be remembered

Soft whispers of
a forgotten song
now only left to be
lost music notes
and an abandoned harmony

Paper butterlies float
trying to find remnants of
a life they once knew
trying to find a place to belong