I am worried that I'm falling too fast for you.

We barely know each other,
but it feels like we're a part of one being. 

I hate feeling so open and sharing so much,
but I can't help it - I have a feeling you're worth it.

Should I be looking at this situation as a flirtatious game,
or are you serious about me?

I am afraid to know the answer.

Baby, you write me poems and they set butterflies free in my stomach.
All I want is to lie under the stars with you,
but instead I am alone in bed.
Awake.
Unable to sleep.
Nurses tell me to think of something positive and automatically,
your face comes before my tired eyes.
They give me my meds
and in my restless, medicated sleep I dream of you.
Baby, I am so angry that I’m stuck here.
I need you with me.

P.S Darling, the phone  # you gave me is not working & also… let’s see each other this weekend.

This sweet old lady Margaret, sat across from me on a bench in the garden and I thought that it would be simply wonderful to grow old with you.

Today we went outside for a BBQ.
I thought of you the whole time.
I was very anxious so I sat in the garden, away from everyone else.
I looked for a flower that could match your beauty, but darling, no flower is as beautiful as you are.

Child. When I fall - I crash.
I am a hopeless romantic.
You set me racing through the atmosphere like a ******* asteroid and soon I am bound to hit the ground.
Boom! Fireworks!
Dust of our poems like the sweat of our bodies melting into one and lifting up to the stars above.
Except child, the stars will never manage to match the brightness with which we shine.
A spark, a supernova being born when our hands touch.
I am scared to imagine what will happen when our lips touch…
‘cause child…
Big Bang itself would not amount to the explosion of passion that our kiss will produce.
So darling, in short, I am being drawn to you, like in to a black hole
and oh darling…
I don’t intend to resist it.

1001001 1001100,1001111,1010110,1000101 1011001,1001111,1010101

She is a fallen angel.
The weight of life has dragged her down from heavens.
Her mind is dark like the closet she’s been hiding her magic in.

She cut her wings down to stubs
And left dark burgundy marks on her skin - a thousand scars.

Now she sits on the bed in a psych ward, looking out the window.
A window that’s locked (she checked)
A prison disguised as a healing place.

They keep her inside, when she’s been born to fly.
She wants to ascend back to heaven,
But they won’t let her die.