I have nervous break downs at just the mere thought of you
oh how I ponder why that can be
You're complex, all the way down to your mix matched socks
The smell of you is like no other
it's not comfortable nor is it worthy to be romanticized
You smell like cigarettes and fucking hair dye
Your brown eyes are better than love-sappy blue eyes
which makes me want to write how a caramel set of eyes are better than clear oceans because it would be for all of the wrong reasons
Your letter doesn't do any justification to the anger in me
I can't romanticize you because suicide isn't love
it's not a trend
it's a deadly thing
but I ponder
if it's a deadly thing
why do I find myself still writing about you?
Poems are just as romanticize as suicide is but yet here's a thing about both