Look at you; a carved beauty.
How patiently were you made?
Did you know the star cries for you?
Did you know the skies bend to you?
Are you lonely?
To be at such height no one dares attempt.
To be burning so beautifully.
To be fire.
To be the lion of everyone's heart.

I'm lonely too. But of a different kind.
You're alone at being perfect.
I'm lonely to be the thing you don't want to ****.

The silence he gave was smothering,
and all too loud.

There's a way in which I break for beauties like you. It's a performance piece, not of the egoistic sort, but rather a birthed love-child of servility and altruism. Here's my recipe, if you ever wanted to scrutinise my path to death.

First, i stare. And marvel in awe at the carved beauty of you and wonder how many cities you've inspired.

Second is initiation. A delicate dance to either be executed from a carnal desire or a romantic want. I choose one or another, seldom do I pick both; tho they end the same way.  

Third is the burning period. I will saturate myself with unwarranted loyalty at this point. I morph to their warmth and this is where it gets sick.        

Fourth: obsession. If you look into my eyes you will see a longing to drown and to go back to the ocean that is you. It's potent enough to drive me insane. Consuming.

Fifth, i surrender. I'd ask you to take off that fire. I want you to still exist but to go burn somewhere else. To be a forest-fire that inspires rather than to maim me insolently.

Sixth is penance dressed masochistically. I torture myself for reasons he wouldn't understand or is justified, but I somehow think it's salubrious.

Seventh concerns with the cycle of death. I die for you, over and over again. I choose to do this.

Eighth is where my pain becomes stagnant and transition into ghosts with names.

Ninth better itself to be the point of moving on and building graves on reverence for even having a taste of perfection.

Tenth, I repeat this whole process.

I once met this French man.
Just a brief encounter; but towards the end of it he looked at me
with almost pensive eyes,
slowly he said "I could love you".
I laughed aloud.
Was it cultural differences
for him to have said that so casually?
Or was he just the brave sort?
I mocked him, of course.
Condemned his lionhearted statement even.
His eyes never left me, all the while,
they looked like a sad storm now.
Like somehow he already misses me.
And that was the last time I saw him.
Despite him asking to take me out to my favourite restaurant.
Despite him asking to take me camping underneath the stars,
Or for a midnight swim.
All the things I like, really.

A year later, and I'm still thinking about this
beautiful, brave French man.
And what could have been.
Haunted by his sugar heart.
But it wasn't my colour to romanticise happiness,
or the feeling of being wanted.
But he was right and, I was wrong.
He could have loved me.
I just didn't let him.
Wherever you are in the world,
I am sorry.
I hope you have a good life.

Sometimes I appreciate pain. It is the only gift from you to me.

Explain to me why I dance to blood,
Look at me when I hurt too much.
Tell me why he painted me black,
and scrutinise my high when he doesn't love me back

Everytime I think of him my heart dies another death.

I miss you but only in secret,
as a whisper,
it lives darkly within me.

It can't be strong,
only a quiet tide.

It can't be known,
because you don't belong to me.

I am going to be leaving you in about 2 months.
And oh, how I cant wait for the sort of poems I'll write.

I almost knew what love was; but it killed me before it danced with me.

crawl inside of my body,
navigate through all the broken bones,
acclimatise to my blood to make me comfortable,
and find the delicate part you like about me.
then set it on fire.  
i like it when lovers leave scars.

I craved your soul but you wouldn't let me have a taste.
I was looking for a place to burn but you wouldn't let me warm myself.
I was after someone who'd appreciate my dying heart but you're too beautiful to care.
I would cry in the comforting disconsolate of your callous heart but I am too prideful in my worth.
I could have done anything for you.
It's never good for the heart to suffer this way but I believe in the price of penance I have to pay to find Nirvana.
I could of, would have, loved you; to allow the patience bloodlet that only demons can inspire.
But.
I wanted to love you more than I could ever love myself; so imagine my hurt when you decided I was the worthless, cut-flower ornament to your perfection.

To leave me bleeding.
To let me die.
To **** me with the care you never gave.

My ***, my glade;
my performance, my songs.
You sweated here, you belong to me.
You thought of him, he'll belong to me too.

My ***, this glade;
our performance, the song.
Not yours to keep,
Never yours to keep.

You exist softly between the tender rain and warm candles that burns unto the cold night. You're too delicate for me to touch with my fire hands.  You're too beautiful for me to ruin.

But I want you so much, I need to see your blood. To break you til the point of beauty. To study you in pain. I set fire to the things I like and if it burns bright then I'm all game.    

But you don't deserve this, and you don't deserve me.
So I'm letting you go because better creatures can love you.

Who would have thought the titan of my heart has taken aim to **** me for selfish reasons. You are a dark design.
And I don't deserve to be here bathing in your torture; and every time I think of you my heart dies another death.

You should see the way I let myself drown within you. I've always had a terrible weakness for beautiful but damaging things. But I've never seen my love this red. I am desperate to burn and let the heat of my death be the fire that mocks the sun. And I'll take my abuse slow to let you know I'm here to worship you.

You dawn upon me as perfectly as you are
and your morning eyes see so many worlds
and your waking lips are hopes
and you whispering my name like a confident fire
was all it took for me to succumb to my desire
you are a constellation
you are the birthed child of perfection
you are a forever
and the sun will rise every morning just for you
and I keep falling in love with you
and the nature of this beast will enslave me to you
It's an imprint of pleasure
I want to learn you
I want to bend to you
I want you, impulsive
I want you, compulsive
you are larger than galaxies
nothing contains you
nothing out-supremes you
nothing
nothing but you
and everything but you
you... oh, you.

let death becomes,
as night and beauty hypnotise,
I realise,
that death became.

I picture you standing there.
Leaning your back against
the door to my balcony,
holding a glass of gin,
looking at me,
knowing me.

And in that transfer of light,
from dusk to night;.

I would have needed you more than love.

Let's drink fire.
and love, and perish,
or at least we'll try to.