A little discipline oughtta do you good,
Just like my father, when in the mood,
Would lay his problems down on me,
Gave scars that turned to poetry,

So I learned to take the damage well,
And in that time, I learned to spell,
So pain would not mean misery,
And It could hide in poetry

Please be careful. I know his intelligence is intoxicating, and his presence is a drug that refuses to leave my system and in return give me side effects. Wonderful, wonderful side effects

But stomach, you will ache for days at a time. Pounding wings against your sides send sharp tinges of amusement through my body. He's not the first boy to give you butterflies, but he is certainly the first to let lose a zoo.

Arms, stop pulsating for just a moment please! I know you need to soak up his embrace, but it will only leave burn marks on the skin. He is a hot coal, brutally beautiful, and it will only leave you with a scar.

Oh, but eyes! You see him so differently. An elegant light surrounds his frame, and every imperfection is that much more entrancing to you.

My poor brain. Thumping emerges and the blissful images of his smile refuse to dull. I beg you to stop thinking. Of him. Of me. Of us. Stop thinking of him, when in the brilliant ocean of his mind I am not a single wave.

I just need to close my eyes and forget...drift off .... but it's hard to sleep when your mind is at war with your heart.
Heart.
      Heart.
           Heart please stop buzzing at uncontrollable rates. His enthralling outlook is no reason to go into cardiac arrest. I promise you, as much as you hope and pray, brain is right. He'll end up being like all of the others, and I don't know how many more times I can pick you off the ground.

His presence is a drug, and I'm addicted to every part of it

Update: I overdosed

Well she

                Spread-eagled in the empty air

                                 Saw the waiting faces

        Time stood still

And she didn’t trust a man in tights

so



She fell

                   She paused in her existence

Feeding her resistance

No one had answers

Not even her



She decided absurdity wasn’t for her

And chose to follow a different philosophy

To live by

And grabbed a solid rung

I laid my head down on my book
and heard a heartbeat
as though the spine had breath
and the words were alive.

Words tattoo memories and love stories,
make heroes out of commoners,
make monsters out of men.
Words twist love into lies.

Words are weapons
that live and last, breathe and beat.
For even when their maker dies,
the damnable have been written into immortality.