Falling out of flight,
Falling into night;
These wings were never meant to save me…
They’re just a faulty accessory.
It’s surreal,
How much the stars remind me
Of your skin.
Pale and porcelain.
Out of your lips, called ugly.
Seen by my eyes, beauty.
You shine against black canvas.
But the stars, they’re burning…
And yet,
You’ve always stayed so frore…
So completely alone.
You are such a magnificent specimen.
It’s viceral- I want you.
I want your stupid opinions,
That nonchalant, aloof and lackadaisical attitude you host,
Your soft, sweet lips,
Fleshed out into reality,
And pressed against mine.
But it’s too dangerous.
A love like this is far too dangerous.
And your eyes have yet to meet mine.
I’ve yet to exist.
I’m not here.