i've hated everybody
since polaroids of fake friends and birthdays
decorated the inside of my locker door
ever since i'd empty the medicine drawer
take too many pills, then take more
and be found on my bathroom floor
-
i've loved every person i've ever met
since my wide eyes eyed every girl as a king's bride
ever since my wide mind contemplated your  two iride sunshines
i'd gaze and stare into them until i went blind
and i could've looked into those eyes until the day i died, if i tried
you gave me bright butterflies, like a white river at sunrise
you were the rapid current, and i made sure to capsize

with wide, bright eyes
i'd go wonderblind, every time
obsessed with the gift of your iride skies
even when i cried, even when i tried my best not to lie
you opened your eyes, basking my skies with your iride sunshine
ever since polaroids of shy walks home
and safely locked medicine drawers
you always saved me
under the guise
of iride butterflies~

do you remember when you lost it?
when you would take me hostage?
when you turned caustic?
you used my presence as your very own mental whetstone.
you called yourself psychotic,
called our words cautious, hypnotic,
but they were toxic.
they were exhaustive.
talks of the atlantic,
and how i'd cross it.
"don't worry, my flight stops in austin,
and then again in boston, i promise.
honest, i'll even book in august."
but then we tossed it,
there was a line,
and you crossed it.
sometimes you got so reckless, so hostile,
that i felt like your chaperone.
we both had to learn how to grow,
living in time zones of our own.
the air turned cold,
when we let our emotions show.
but i was lonely too,
so at least you weren't alone.
you acted as my bright summer sun,
setting my world aglow.
but every time you said hello,
i remembered how much i missed the snow.

i love the universe-
but she makes my conscience hurt.
she turns me around,
and she pins me down.
it makes me feel like dirt.

i try not to love her,
but she whispers such sweet words.
and when she starts to flirt,
i start to convert,
and it makes it so much worse.

i hate the universe-
she's someone that i don't deserve.
she starts to get manic,
and i turn panic,
and every word starts to sound rehearsed.

she is my universe-
and every time that we converse,
my thoughts turn perverse,
her mind inverts,
and my fragile heart starts to burst.

time to waste,
a heart to beat.

a god defaced,
now obsolete.

a faith erased,
believed deceit.

as is death without grace,
to pray is to accept defeat.

He writes loves stories of wonder beyond inspiration

and no one could ever match his wit, his art, his creation

No one could defeat him from the poet’s throne
                                 . . .
Though the king of composed literary

is a fool behind his work of virtuosity

a clown to his own emotions

describing love letters for a lover he has let go