Her light was extinguished by the dark
In a sudden implosion of madness,
And all of the stars that once dusted her sky
Now lie as the dying embers of what used to be
Her fiery soul.

They think I write because I'm feeling emotional.
Dear me.
I wish I was emotional.
But it's the opposite, really.
I write because I feel nothing.
And feeling nothing means feeling a dull thirst.
I thirst for productivity.
I thirst for activity.
I thirst for the passion long gone.

So I wring my hollow heart out
for any inspiration
and whatever drips from it
I maximize fully,
What little gasoline remains from it I use extensively.
I strike a match
and burn everything
as much as I can,
Because I know it's nonrenewable
And I have to hoard ideas from it while stocks last, use it until the embers burn out.

the embers
danced just for me

who knew a
dying thing

could be so
beautiful

you're flaming. little specks of crimson burn like fire in your heart. your physique melts like *** on a fire and sparks of amber make you glow like a candle in the darkness. magenta lines cross your lips and your skin mocks the setting street lamps and the burning sun.

you're a mountain to me. dwarfing cities below you with peaks that stride above the heavens, attempting to graze the planets if even so slightly.

you are worth becoming the enemy of hell. you are worth every friend you've ever lost to file yourself. you are worth it, because i've never met anyone who loves as perfectly and passionately as you.

They breathe you in,
my charcoal dreams,
and into life
their ashes bleed.

And everything is canvas
frozen into silence,
letting go of notions, old,
anticipating me
to set flame to the cold
and sear through the sheen
of diamonds in their numbness.

Like embers
Falling silently
Into the sea,
So are you and me.
They don't
Belong together,
But despite
The tragic end,
They collide
So beautifully.