Oct 2016
I’m sick of writing aureate poetry about the sinewy tendons of your hands, the way your eyelashes used to tickle my cheeks. I don’t want my words to blossom for you any longer, but grant me one last creation in your name.
******* for being so infinitely lovely, your face reads like a greek tragedy that I never want to stop translating. The spark in your eyes set me aflame when I thought there was nothing left inside of me but ashes.
You sacrificed your body to shield me from myself when you were still a phantasmic unknown, and I’ll never stop apologizing for it.
I’m sorry for falling through the cracks before we figured out I wasn’t what you wanted.
I’m sorry for always asking, begging you to tell me what was wrong.
But when you’re reminded of all the things you force out of your head, your sparks grow dim. And I know you never want to talk about it, but you’ll have to eventually when you burn that last cigarette.
I’m sorry for not knowing how to tell you how badly I wanted this;
The words fall apart letter by letter as they tumble carelessly from my tongue whenever I try to get them out.
I’m sorry for not being the right person because I know you need that right now, I hope when you find that person, they feel like champagne and warm grass.
I’ll try to help you stand back up when you fall, until then we’ll be all ****** shins and bruised hearts, but I want to be there. I don’t know if your soul has its own gravitational pull or if I’m just a simple *******, but I’ve never once wanted to leave your side.
So yell at me when you’re drunk to let the chaos out, your voice still sounds like a lullaby and I’ll bite my lip until you can breathe again.
I want it all, the elegance, the anxiety, the absolute sorrow of a man.
You’re like the ruins of rome and a natural disaster blurred together into one human form: terrifying, awe-inspiring, and so, so beautiful.
Every inch of you is the most exquisite thing I’ve ever touched, and when I close my eyes at night, I dream I never stopped.
I don’t think I fully know what love is, but I’ve never felt addicted to anything until I met you.
******* for being so infinitely lovely, your face reads like a greek tragedy that I never want to stop translating. The spark in your eyes set me aflame when I thought there was nothing left inside of me but ashes.
You sacrificed your body to shield me from myself when you were still a phantasmic unknown, and I’ll never stop apologizing for it.
I’m sorry for falling through the cracks before we figured out I wasn’t what you wanted.
I’m sorry for always asking, begging you to tell me what was wrong.
But when you’re reminded of all the things you force out of your head, your sparks grow dim. And I know you never want to talk about it, but you’ll have to eventually when you burn that last cigarette.
I’m sorry for not knowing how to tell you how badly I wanted this;
The words fall apart letter by letter as they tumble carelessly from my tongue whenever I try to get them out.
I’m sorry for not being the right person because I know you need that right now, I hope when you find that person, they feel like champagne and warm grass.
I’ll try to help you stand back up when you fall, until then we’ll be all ****** shins and bruised hearts, but I want to be there. I don’t know if your soul has its own gravitational pull or if I’m just a simple *******, but I’ve never once wanted to leave your side.
So yell at me when you’re drunk to let the chaos out, your voice still sounds like a lullaby and I’ll bite my lip until you can breathe again.
I want it all, the elegance, the anxiety, the absolute sorrow of a man.
You’re like the ruins of rome and a natural disaster blurred together into one human form: terrifying, awe-inspiring, and so, so beautiful.
Every inch of you is the most exquisite thing I’ve ever touched, and when I close my eyes at night, I dream I never stopped.
I don’t think I fully know what love is, but I’ve never felt addicted to anything until I met you.
