Baby it's cold outside
So snuggle up closer

If hot chocolate was alcohol
We'd be well past drunk by now

I could lay with you for hours
Until we drift off to sleep

I want to wake up in your arms forever
Listening to the crackling fireplace

We don't even need mistletoe
Just kiss me darling

I love wearing dresses
I love the color pink
I love flower bouquets  

I’m also in love with a girl

I’m a sucker for sweets
Lipstick and mascara
I’m all about bubblegum kisses

Soft and cuddly
Fingers intertwined
Blankets and body heat

Perfume and her hair
Her warm embrace  
As I’m surrounded by her arms

You take my breath away
Stealing the sweet oxygen
Like a thief who leaves me in a blurry state of mind
Unsure of what has happened
What has been taken from me
Sitting static  
Dizzy in your love
You spin me in circles
A never ending loop of joy
Oxygen is overrated
All you need to survive is
Love

Is ignorance bliss?
Or is it simply lying to another?
Are you keeping them for yourself?
Or taking their air?
Smother.

Is it being so honest that the truth is blunt?
Or is it keeping loved ones away from the true battlefront?

Honesty can be
Intimidating
Chaotic
&
Rarely confessed
So here’s the question you must answer:
Is it better to keep a lie tidy?
Or reveal that the truth is a mess?

Mental illness not a romantic tale about a princess in a dark tower
The one who gets rescued by a knight in shining armor
In the story you might feel more like the huntsman
Who never sleeps in fear that something might pass him if he does
Or maybe you’re more like Sleeping Beauty minus the beauty and the prince
Who never stops sleeping but when she wakes she’s still exhausted
Maybe you’re the witch
Who fears other might take her only friend away so she locks them in a tower for eternity
Maybe you’re the heroes who can rescue everyone
Well everyone except themselves
Or perhaps you’re just a simple peasant, as most are
With no role to play in the story
“Would the author care if I were gone?”
It’s a question you ask yourself daily
This is the truth about mental illness
It’s not a fairytale that you get to romanticize
It’s reality that never ends
And it ******* *****

I've always wanted someone to take my breath away
Bu after struggling to obtain oxygen these past few days
I have realized how precious it is
Saving it and storing it up for the right words
But my oxygen could never be wasted on you
My ribs may creak and crumble
And my lungs stretch paper thin
But oxygen is a precious thing
And you are worth every single breath
That burns me from the inside out