You.
Me.
Both equally insane.
Eyes wide at everything.
"Existence is a mere coincidence?" I ask.
"You're nothing but an angel" you whisper to me,
but a quiet thought is a soft blow to my face with your gentle words,
your soft gaze.
Your existence amazes me.
For you are a small sound or a humming breeze.
A flower? The fog in winter?
A day among stars, in outer space.
You are multiple types of beauty
Both dangerous and satisfying.
You are 60% of my insanity.
The other 30% is lacking.

I screamed out from the top of my lungs.
I yelled out in fear for I thought you were the one.
I said I was scared.
I scratched my head.
I fell out of bed.
I will forget!
These tear stains will dry.
I will fall into the landfill, I will die.

I bit on my tongue, and I found some drugs.
We are losing ourselves, but worse than that we lost each other.
I am numb.
I payed attention to you.
I wasted time on you.
I had never done that before...
I hadn't unraveled.
Every word you said I was hung up on.
I drove you crazy...?
You were already crazy.
I am crazy?
I was already crazy.

You will forget and I will forget.
We will not be both the end and the beginning of one another.
They will ask and I will say,
"I'm not in love."
But I will be lying.
I will forever love you,
although
I do not like you anymore.
I will wait until the morning sun arrives.
"Don't look back."
I'll whisper,
"Don't look back."

We listen to the Waltz of The Flowers and our racing mouths come to a stop.
Making the room filled with eloquent silence.
Your hands grasp my small waist.
We are as one, once again,
gliding across the room to the sound of a thousand
musical instruments making a picture whole together, synchronically.
Your lips form a small gasp, your eyes are shut.
My face is surely filled with delight, and with a peek, I realize that so is yours.
Moments like these seem to stop time.
The simple kind of five minutes that change your life.
It happens whenever your fingers come in contact with my flesh.
I am so deeply lost in you.
The words you speak affect me like *******.
We are naked bellow this beautiful night sky.
You are the most accurate description of a **** mind.

After I pass I hope I can become a planet for thousands of beings to inhabit on, to fall in love on.
I hope after I am no longer I become a star for the lost beings on this planet to wish upon.
After I can no longer be, I long to become one of Saturn's rings, maybe even one of its many moons.
I also live in the hope that you embody Saturn so I can once again, revolve around you.
I am not wishing for death.
I do not wish something grant, although becoming a star seems rather extravagant and audaciously honorable.
These are selfless wishes.
I just want to be part of something much larger than I am.
Endlessly wishing I can at least once be in the presence of God in this lifespan.
I want to know what death feels like, I want to know what rebirth feels like, I want to be the moon, and you could be the earth.
*Shall We Begin Again?

My head is a mess,
There is nothing to fix;
The weight or emptiness
that comes with loss
of a lover that still exists.

My mind is everywhere.
where are you?
what'd you do to me?
why is this even happening?
am i even here?

This heartbreak gave me
inspiration.
You were the beginning,
middle,
and ending of everything.
I ******* hate you,
inconsiderate *****.

You grew on me ,
I grew because of this.
The flower that I am
That you loved so much
I bloomed with the loss of you.
Thank you for the wonderful memories.
I don't need you.

You will read this poem, and as you read it you'll wonder why is that the first line of this, how bizarre and unintriguing.
You will feel the emotions I felt as I put these words into motion.
You won't care.
It'll touch you for a slight second and take you back with a rush of nostalgia.
You will forget this.
My words full of feeling and most likely eloquence will fade your mind like a dying butterfly,
that just flew by,
right before your eyes.
(You weren't aware of the fact it was dying, of course.)
I should say these are all ghost words, with demons attached to them; for the things that inspired these thoughts are impacted
memories
formed by travelling people who attached themselves to little pieces of my mind.
I thought as I wrote this,
my soul is staining the paper,
for it often feels as though it is bleeding and I would say every writer feels this way.
I would hope so.
A sinking boat, over boarded with water.
A flooded river, full of life, not knowing how to deal with all of it's responsibility.
A loud room, around a small human with a sensory overload.
Each word is a brick on top of a flower.
This is as heavy as this silly poem will get.