Red roses were in your hair as a part of a flowery crown,
make something up,
my original aesthetic,
novel love life,

she said ‘become a poem’ so I became a poem,
voltage free,
no one speaks,
I express microscopic feelings and make them into twisted stories,

keep Twitter memories,
I love you for some reason so I visit you frequently,
not in the form of angel neither demon down on Earth,
but through meta connection,

false rejection,
come back to Brooklyn,

Discord Love,
growing in me on school benches,
medallion craved by time,
as the stars were dashing in not equal tempos,

I love my alter ego,
I love you,
and the mystic gate I kept locked is halfway opened for the world,
a week apart,

but I won’t take another step,

not just yet.