This is a rebellion against my intrinsic Romantic.
I've decided I have no time for love if it's suffocated by semantics.

You are my muse
and that, to me  is amusing
you think you're using me
but i'm using you
to produce a substance that is a part of me
It is a substance that many men have dubbed poetry

You are not an object, you are a soul
encapsulated in the beautiful-
in a sense , the innocence you embody is heavy sent
but in this world it's a countdown like
eleven. . . ten. . .
dissolving as you appear as an object
**** your self out for the pleasure of the audience
It's tragic, wreaks havoc, it's intrinsically implied
the less you are true to the beauty that is you, the more your beauty is not reflected
is rejected, denied

I want to write a storm so well it blows you away
use words so mindblowing you don't know what to say
using just my words and speeches leave you wrecked and speechless
throw daggers with deadly proficiency, ones crafted from words i spit with full efficiency
i might repeat myself but i do it efficiently
spit spirit twice over to show her it sticks with me

Here I am thinking of you again
sometimes i can't get you out of my head
all i can do is think about you until
some ****** test demands my attention

then i hurry through
and daydream of being with you

Did you know that you are the person on earth that i am closest to?
You are. And i'm glad it's you.
Because I'm not sure
I could trust anyone the way i trust you