You make my heart fly like it's still whole,
like the bones in my wings aren't brittle and broken
and these palpatations actually follow some sort of a beat.
Like maybe my feathers are still beautiful,
even though I've made a habit out of flying too close to the sun.
Suddenly, it's heat just warms my skin,
and now I'm glowing.
Instead of bursting into flames.
You burn me from the inside out,
but it's a comfortable energy.
You play my strings so delicately,
I feed off the vibrations.
You make me feel like a song,
that missed a beat, but found it just in time for the crescendo.
And now I'm playing on
like nothing bad has ever happened in my life.
Just like a Dali painting --
Beautiful and ugly and brilliant
and no one's sure exactly what it means...
But you're the artist,
and in your eyes, every stroke makes sense and I'm perfection.