Some days I am so convinced that I hate him that I can feel hell in my blood
But it's the days of weakness
Those rain filled, grey-scale days
that have me writing with the residual stardust
left in the corners of my eyes  
left from when I was star struck myself.
I think to myself,
"if I can just get these words out, maybe I'll finally be free."
But the words never end
they are the never-ending flowing music of the spheres
and I begin to understand what "all truth is song but not all that is sung is truth" really means
They sung that boy's praises and I joined in until I learnt what a lie was
It's in that moment
I wondered if  I perhaps understood how Lucifer felt as he led worship

Some nights, I told you lies that would make Satan proud.
Other nights, I was more honest than a wood nymph captured.
But whether I was lying to you, or telling you my darkest secrets, those confessions were indulgent for the best of reasons.
You wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning.

i think sometimes
we are so worried
about trying to be happy
that we forget
what exactly
that looks like

i remember.
i remember every kiss
every touch
every sound
every single piece of moment memory
i remember
and now, i must forget

Sometimes, I like to think
that the reason I wilt
is because I am a flower.
Flowers are beautiful things,
are they not?
It's why we pick them
and its why they die.
Beautiful things always
die in the end.
Its the way things go.
The sun rises
and it falls.
Nature takes its course.
Suppose I was beautiful once...
But suppose someone came along
and plucked me from the ground.
Its why I wilt.
Because he did just that.

From her flawless golden skin
To her flaxen hair and wide eyes
She is the goddess he wishes he had
She is perfection
Pixelated perfection.
And how can I compete?