Define Beautiful?

It was 2.36am in the morning and
the thought of you came suffocating
my mind.

It was 6.36am in the morning and
a text from you came by,
it was simple and sweet.

It was truly unexpected,
it was absolutely unplanned,
to meet you again,
to see your smile again.
It was something to die for,
at least of my existence.

Hearing you laughter,
listening to your cherry-blossom stories
brought back the colors of my life
as it was plain and dull these past few months.

It was truly unexpected,
it was absolutely unplanned,
to fall for you again;
even after everything
even after the 'day'.

anyway, i can't think about that
anymore. the abyss gonna abyss.

i push pixels
bent on ellipses
****** up on extended metaphors
they turn me out
my sweater dismantled
these holes got socks in 'em
enamel from the storm god's tooth worn
and he knows i know

awkward eschatological talks ensue
like: "i always knew you were faking it."
stuff like that.

threshold deniers, behold, the new day: nigh af

I must go numb before I won't adore you more.
To the point I'm very unware of you completely in my heart.
Well, least until all the feelings are gone.

I will know this just by the mentioning of your name.
When I don't react to hearing it.
But for now, you're my love purpose.
Whatever that means?

Winter left behind
a labyrinth of addictions,
chains of solitude
that took you the whole summer
to break,

Long sleeves on a sunny day,
pockmarked with exhausted pain,
delivered in fractures
only you can see on your face.

The mirror: a split-screen
of everything you see
versus
everything that you feel.

You have been staring
at your plate until everything
has grown cold.
You have drowned yourself in changes:

it is no wonder you do not feel whole.

Winter left behind
a fraction of yourself.
You scale the branches
in the bloom

only to wake up ******,
alone,
another winter's afternoon.

Last night
I dreamt of
Picasso’s cat
slipping through 
streets like an evil 
spirit with rumpled fur

The winter winds carefully arrives with dreary wings, it's negative and pushing through the soft sunlight with relative ease.

My warmth is kept at a minimum at all times, for comfort, and my bones ache. They creak in the winter part of the revolution around the sun.

It will be a a eternity and a expired hour to when the warmth will take its turn. Then I will dip my toes in the cold, dark waters of a fresh water hole in a salt water ocean.

The earth will continue through the heavens as our dependency grows with each death of a star. They stick around for a millennia then alter shape to bring the balance full scale.

My life is not measured in the brightness of my comet tail, my life is measured by the depth of the cold, dark heavens. To see the colors of the tail, you must be in the vacancy of the heavens.