and continuing to laugh here with you,
to pretend that nothing has changed,
is like drinking a flavourless poison.
it burns, it's killing me,
but i don't want to accept the reasons why.

being in love with someone
who loves you back
can make you feel more beautiful
than almost anything.

something about this magnificent person,
who is your whole world,
viewing you in the same way you view them?

if i see you as ethereal,
my angel,
then how do you see me?

i don't think i could ever view myself as beautiful
on my own
but you make me feel more
tolerable towards myself,
and that's a feat in and of itself.

thank you for existing the way you do.

if i could speak every language the same as you, i would breathe poetry into your veins.

there are countless stories
of how suicide affected the still-living,
the still-breathing,
the still-thriving.

there are countless truly selfish tales,
choruses of “please don’t do it”
but never is there a
“i understand, and i support you regardless.”

we talk about assisted suicides
in medicine, for the elderly
and the physically ill,
so why is it that my doctor

can’t write me an rx
for a premature leave of absence?
why is it that mental illness
is always seen as simply being overdramatic?

why is it that people understand
and accept the fact that physically ill people die
but they can’t accept the fact
that mentally ill people want to stop suffering as well?

i would give just about anything
simply to protect you from myself.

Perhaps it would remain a great mystery,
What life would be like with you by my side.

You were stolen much too soon.

he is ethereal.

humans are made of stardust, this is fact, but they must be more stardust than human. he's likened often to an angel, despite his personality.

perhaps he is composed of the sun itself, fiery temperament contrasting the beauty painted across his skin with expertise. it's almost as if each and every inch of their skin shines, blinding most who dare approach.

i want to watch the way the stars dance in their eyes, like each star is a diamond sunk into the most divine and colourful resin that is his irises. i want to pluck the stars from the night sky and dust them across his blush, to give him freckles half as gorgeous as they himself is.

i want to take the big dipper and ladle the stars into his veins. he is my universe, they cradle me and care for me despite the fear he held before. i cherish him, and he cherishes me.

i am not worthy of breathing the same air as them; i am mere mortal while he is a deity amongst men. i am not worthy, yet he takes care and cradles me in their own arms as if i am everything i know him to be. if we were the greek gods, he would be aphrodite incarnate and i myself would be likened to hephaestus, though i am certain he remains loyal to our relationship.

he is the ambrosia that has the potential to poison me if i don't stop sipping, but that is a risk i am willing to take. he is every dream i've ever wanted to achieve, in fact, if i dreamed him up then they are the greatest dream i've ever had.

i truly hope that he never tires of me, for they are one of the few things i doubt i could ever live without. i find myself wondering sometimes how i made it so long without them, before i remember the person i used to be. he is a ceramist and i am a lump of fresh clay, and they continue to craft and craft and make me into a more complete version of what once was.

he has every chance to break me, to completely shatter me, yet he treats me like i am the most delicate object in the mortal plane of existence. he is so very gentle with me, as am i with them.