Your eyes
are iron cores
of dying stars.

I collapse
under their gravity.

You consume me,
and spit me out
in millionths.

you've got me sitting
alone
in my room
listening to the music you like
trying to figure you out
trying to decide if you like me
if you want me

my mother says
"he probably doesn't know either"

and i'm frustrated
because someone has to
someone has to understand
and i don't
and i have to
i have to understand
you're a puzzle i can't solve
is this something i'm doing to myself?
nothing is as analytical as i need it to be
your tones of gray are confusing me
and i can't find a way to organize
the things you say to me

but to say i don't enjoy the task
would be a lie
because it does, in fact,
make me feel alive
i want you to want me,
that's very true
but it won't be easy
to convince me
that it's okay to want you

I've ****** it up, I've tried
to rearrange the order,
or cut the syllables symmetrically.
I've only showed you the worst
I've got to offer.
Wanted to help,
but
when I was traveling
a syringe tainted
complex or sleeping
where the roof
caved in and
drip,
drip,
dripped next to
my head;
I've known it too.
Cut me out, it's my fault,
my feet hit the pavement
like a cliche. Everything's a cliche.
Complex sleeping.
Everything is elusive and dark,
and slippery and larger than
life. Some nights I almost cry.

I use to see you in the sunlight.
Until the sun died,
Growing so dim,
The earth was forced to dwell,
In eternal night.

The sky blazed with angry stars.
Glittering and glinting with,
Malice and envy because they will never rest again.
Men would expect to much of them.
Making wishes on their fallen,
Leaving gaps in the sky open,
Hating the sun for being so selfish.

The earth becomes,
Cold and Ice blue.
Frozen.
Desolate.
A wasteland of hate.
And Plants wither and die,
Loathing the moon.

Chaos expels,
Gushing from the wounds.
Hurricanes, Oozes from gashes,
Tipped and ripped from its roots,
Because of the imbalance in the universe.

The sun went out like candle light,
From the winds that came from your lips
As you blew it out with a smile.
Leaving the world to die slowly.

Setting off wars,
Threatening extinction,
Causing epidemics,
Brewing disasters,
And Hunger...
Existence relies on your power.
But you are to ignorant to see it.
Everything revolves around you.
Everything suffers because of it too.

The rose captain knows my name
This perfume breath I breathed
For you my dear, my love will never leave*

dear love of old,
they say absence makes the heart grow fonder
but as i've separated myself from you
my feelings have only become colder
i used to adore every part of you
but now as we get older
i see that my rose tinted vision
wouldn't let me listen
to what i should have realized sooner:
you're only out to hurt me
even if it's unintentionally
the kind of you and the kind of me
are, truly, never meant to be
and it's not a flaw on us, you see
it's just something that is
like the tides of the ocean
dictated by the moon
and the cycles of life
we all must endure.

dear love of new,
we haven't faced much hardship or strife
since we have crossed paths in this life
our lives are young, and we are fun
and we've been hurt too much
we confide our sorrows
and look toward tomorrows
with optimistic views
and watch the news
in hopes that things will get better.
but for us, things are on the ups
because we have found one another
and things are simple,
things are fun,
and my feelings for you make me want to run
through green meadows and pick flowers
and you make me think
that things could be okay
and i will be okay

You boop my nose,
and kiss my mouth.

You hold my hand,
and put my mind at ease.

You leave bruises on my neck,
and make me happy.

I do these things for you too,
and it makes you happy.

"Quit while you're ahead"
words I should've listened to,
I didn't know they applied to me
I didn't know they were about
my love
my life
my constant.

I didn't crash and burn
I had a slow,
ungraceful decent-
clambering for stranger's likes and comments-
for their approval of what should be
my deepest, most personal thoughts
mattering only to me
but instead plagued with the single thought
"I hope this trends I hope this trends"

If I had quit long ago
they would have asked
"whatever happened to the girl
who wrote good poetry?"
but they won't ask now.
they won't notice.

I poured black oil
over my previous work
and in a shocked attempt to clean it up
I only smear it further.

"quit while you're ahead"
I've lost my chance,
now I can only leave in shame.
and I'm sorry for that.